True Chosen
by SwallowingInk
Summary: There was never a "boy-who-lived." Instead there were twin brothers, born into a dark legacy. One is hailed as chosen, the Heir of Slytherin; the other tries to escape certain death at his father's hands. But is it really certain?
1. Chapter 1

**Before I start, I'd like to acknowledge that this story, though I don't think it bears too much similarity, was originally inspired by Dark Cyan Star's story _His Slytherin Descendants_. So, props. Also, the title is subject to change. I'll leave it at that.**

**Disclaimer: I own lots of Coca-Cola, a bag of Ghirardelli chocolates, and my laptop. I don't own Harry Potter.  
><strong>

Prologue

The young boy walked quietly along the corridor, knowing better than to be loud or playful in this particular wing of the manor. In fact, any activities that might tentatively be described as 'playful' were confined to the nursery at the other end of the house.

Of course, Hadrian liked to think that he'd gotten past most of his 'playful' stage. He was nearly eight now, and his mother had told him that he was getting too old for playing, and that he should focus entirely on his studies. Hadrian was only too happy to read, unlike his twin, Domitian.

Domitian was older than Hadrian by only a few minutes, but he was definitely the less mature of the two of them. He whined constantly, always wanting to have his way, and was generally arrogant about everything, even when he was obviously the inferior.

Still, Father seemed to like Domitian better, which always angered Hadrian. They didn't see their father often; he was always very busy, they were told, but he came to the manor once every week or two so that the twins could show him what they had learned from their tutors. And even though Hadrian always performed at least as well as Domitian, it was always the older twin who got the coveted approval from Father.

Hadrian suddenly realized where he was, and stopped outside his mother's door. He buried his feelings about Domitian; he knew his mother didn't like it when they fought or got jealous of each other. The little boy took a deep breath and knocked quietly. He was surprised that Mother had asked for him this late; normally he'd been put to bed already, and even now he was dressed in his pajamas. Hadrian wiggled his toes, trying to warm them. The cold stone floor seemed colder when one was standing still.

Not hearing a reply, Hadrian reached for the silver handle and peeked slightly into the room. There was his mother, seated gracefully on the green-velour chaise, staring at the fireplace.

"Mother?"

She turned to him, startled out of her thoughts. "Hadrian, darling, come here."

The boy gladly stepped out of the chilly hallway and closed the door behind him. His feet were much warmer on the thick Persian rug than on the stones. He padded over to where his mother sat.

Now that he could see her up close, Hadrian could tell something was wrong with his mother. Her skin was paler than usual, and her eyes seemed tired.

"What is it, Mother?"

She managed to smile for her son, a faint smile. "I just wanted to see you, love. There are some things I need to tell you."

Hadrian frowned. "What sort of things?"

The woman took the boy's face between her hands. "Important things, things you'll need to know once I'm gone."

"Gone?"

She nodded. "Now, listen. You know how important you and your brother are, don't you?"

Hadrian nodded. He'd been hearing it all his life.

"One day, one of us is going to be the Heir."

"And what about the other one? What will happen to the one who isn't the Heir?"

The boy could say nothing. Honestly, he had never really thought about what would happen to whomever wasn't chosen as Heir.

His mother sighed. "No doubt you'll find out soon enough. Listen to me, Hadrian. No matter what happens to me, I want you safe. If you aren't chosen as Heir, I want you to get out of this place. It will be better for you."

"But...how, Mother?"

"You're a smart boy, Hadrian—you'll manage."

"But why are you telling me now? Why do you..." the boy's eyes suddenly widened.

His mother smiled another sad smile and drew him up into her arms. She rocked him for a moment as he cried quietly into her shoulder. "Remember that I'll always love you, darling," she whispered softly.

Too soon, there was another knock at the door. The mother shifted her slowly calming son to the floor.

"Get under my bed, and make sure you count to fifty after the footsteps are gone before you go back to your room."

"I love you," he whispered, and she quickly kissed his cheek before sending him to crawl under the bed.

He heard the door open, heard a voice, a man, address his mother. He heard her skirts rustle as she crossed the room, and he heard the door shut again with a quiet 'click'. He heard the footsteps echo on the stone in the hall.

Even after he reached fifty, the boy couldn't get up. He felt like the bed, the ceiling, and maybe the whole world had collapsed around him.

Chapter One

**9 Years Later**

Hadrian stepped cautiously out into the hallway, looking down the corridor for any signs of movement. No one.

He turned around and quietly shut the door, locking it and carefully resetting the wards before magically erasing the fingerprints he'd left on the polished silver handle. He was anxious, and anxiety could lead to mistakes.

"What are you doing down here?"

Mistakes like that.

Hadrian turned around and acknowledged his twin. Domitian had grown a lot over the years, in physical size if not in intellect. It was difficult to be sure which part of the family he'd gotten that gene from—probably the severely-inbred branch of the Black line. "I could ask you the same question," Hadrian retorted.

"_I _wasn't snooping in Father's private study though, was I?" Domitian crossed his arms, smiling as though he knew he'd caught something important. "Well then, let's have it. Or should I just go and let someone—say, Aunt Bella—know that you were sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong?"

"Telling tales about me to Auntie Bellatrix? Very mature, Domitian; I'm sure you're proud of your pitiable blackmailing skills. It's not as if I don't have secrets about you to tell people."

"Not that they'd believe you. You're not good for much, are you? Black sheep of the family, always going against Father's ideals..."

Hadrian rolled his eyes; he'd had enough of this confrontation.

Before Domitian could blink, his brother had him at wandpoint.

"Tell anyone I was here, and I'll tell every one of your low-level toadies the reason you and I are no longer allowed to duel. Or maybe I should just _Obliviate_ you and be done with it? You know I'm strong enough to do it."

Domitian fixed his twin with a glare, "You'd never. Father wouldn't –"

"Oh, just piss off and keep Draco company someplace far away. I don't want to listen to his whining tonight."

"I heard that, _Sable_!"

The twins turned to watch their cousin, Draco Malfoy advance down the hall, trademark gloating sneer on his face. The last name had sounded like a slur rather than an address.

Hadrian rolled his eyes. "Good. You were meant to. I figure that if you hear it enough, it'll get through your inflated head that no one wants to listen to you."

Before either of them could reply, Hadrian strode off outside, leaving the two other boys by themselves in the hall.

Hadrian sat down on the ground and propped himself up against an old tree, his favorite spot on the manor grounds. He still wondered why Malfoy was dense enough to think that calling him by his mother's surname—_his_ surname—was insulting. The name Sable could only hurt Domitian, who had denied their mother in an effort to please their father. He thought she was weak. She had been killed, after all.

That was what happened to those who displeased the Dark Lord. It didn't matter that she had been one of his most favored at one time. The Dark Lord showed no mercy or compassion, not even for the mother of his sons.

Of course, Hadrian was used to the ribbing, comments, and threats from Draco and Domitian. He disliked the spoilt, obnoxious Draco on principle, and he could barely remember a time when he had been civil with Domitian. Their relationship had been terrible when they were children, and they had only grown worse as they got older, their mother's death making their division more pronounced. Hadrian hated Domitian for gaining favor by denying his heritage, and Domitian maintained that Hadrian was stupid for staunchly clinging to a half-blooded, weakling mother.

Also, the fact that they were competing for their very lives hadn't exactly fostered a healthy relationship.

Hadrian's mother had been right to think that her sons would soon learn the fate of the 'disfavored' twin. On the day they turned eight, Lucius Malfoy had been the one to inform Hadrian and Domitian that, when they came of age, the Dark Lord would select one of them—and only one—as his true heir, the True Magical Heir of Salazar Slytherin. The other twin would be killed.

That was going to be a happy seventeenth birthday, Hadrian thought. And it was growing ever closer. The end of July was just five weeks away. The clock was ticking.

Of course, Hadrian hadn't always seen it that way. For a long time, he had harbored the foolish dream that his father would one day open his eyes and see that he, Hadrian, was more valuable than his brother by tenfold. It had never happened. For whatever reason, the Dark Lord was falling for Domitian's "perfect son" act and ignoring Hadrian. After years of the same old story, Hadrian no longer allowed himself be affected by this treatment. He wasn't a child anymore. He didn't need his father's approval.

As far as all of the Death Eaters were concerned, the Dark Lord had named his Heir already, and it was Domitian. Hadrian, who had always been seen as second-best no matter what he did, would be murdered, just like his mother. However, Hadrian had no intention of sitting idly by and letting it happen. He remembered his mother's last conversation with him, that night in her rooms. _I want to you get out of this place_, she had said, and he would.

Of course, he had hoped to have a better plan in place by now. It had taken him long enough to wake up and realize that he would end up useless and dead if he didn't do something, and he had been further hindered by a lack of resources and a need to avoid any sort of attention from anyone, especially his father.

That was the most difficult part of the situation: making sure that his father didn't know what he was up to. If the Dark Lord found out that Hadrian was trying to sidestep him, life could quickly become very, very unpleasant.

That was the source of Hadrian's current frustration. He had hoped there would be something in his father's library to help him hide himself, but in six hours he'd gotten practically no useful information and had almost gotten caught. If the Dark Lord managed to discover that Hadrian had been sneaking around his private study, there would be hell to pay. Hadrian winced at the thought of his close call with Domitian. Fortunately, his brother was stupid enough (or smart enough, perhaps) not to try to blackmail him with the incident, so unless there were more nuances within the wards than Hadrian had detected, and there shouldn't be, he was safe. But the incident was a good reminder to him to be more cautious in the future. Carelessness could, quite literally, kill him, and Hadrian was certainly not ready to die.


	2. Chapter 2

**I meant to have this up on Sunday night because I was gone for the weekend, but then the log-in was shut down and things happened, so I'm uploading in the middle of a class instead. Sorry that this is mostly information, and rest assured that most of the chapters are longer than this one. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and added.**

Chapter Two

When Hadrian awoke the next day, late morning sunlight was streaming in through his window. He had returned to his room late at night, and realized now that he was probably already late for his morning tutoring session, but he did nothing about it. Instead, he rolled over onto his stomach and clenched his eyes shut. He didn't care much about his tutoring; he had already progressed far beyond the normal school curriculum levels, anyway. It wasn't as if whoever was supposed to be teaching him at the moment could complain either, as that person now had the morning free. He might be in trouble for skipping dinner last night, if anyone important enough to care about such a thing had been around to miss him.

Ten minutes later, Hadrian finally rolled himself out of his immensely comfortable sheets, showered, dressed in a muggle t-shirt and jeans, and left his rooms.

Hadrian had a good amount of muggle clothing in his wardrobe, more than was considered proper for him to have. He had added more to his collection with each of his forays into muggle London, and he wore it whenever he could get away with it, donning wizard robes only when they were required. He didn't necessarily prefer muggle clothing, but wearing it made him feel closer to his mother, who had grown up in the muggle world and retained a fondness for many of its customs. It was also an easy way to irritate people like his father and his aunt, Bellatrix. He knew that Bellatrix had, at some point, sent one of her own house elves in to burn all of his muggle outfits, but he had thought ahead and charmed his wardrobe so that no one except himself and his own favorite house elf from Slytherin Manor could open it. Still, he wore mainly dress shirts and trousers when he was around the manor, and only put on jeans and t-shirts when he was "sneaking out" to visit muggle London. Even _he_ had standards to maintain, after all.

"Still wearing those muggle rags, I see, _nephew_." Bellatrix's shrill voice echoed in the corridor as she approached. "You hardly look better than a house elf."

"And your voice is still as pitchy and owl-like always, Aunt Bella," Hadrian returned. Childish insults were practically a ritual between Hadrian and his aunt. "I can hardly understand how my father bears your company when you speak." He sidestepped her and continued down the hall.

Bellatrix called after him, "You should change your clothes unless you want him to see you that way."

Hadrian stopped, both reluctant and curious, and turned back to her. "He's coming here, is he?"

"Oh, yes," Bellatrix replied with wicked glee. "The Dark Lord is arriving at the manor in an hour, and will be present for the rest of the day."

"Oh, goodie. You know I'm always thrilled to pieces to see Daddy dearest."

Hadrian's sarcasm quickly flipped his aunt's grin to a scowl. "How dare you speak of the Dark Lord in that manner! He's given you everything, boy, and he shows you such _mercy_, too. Why, if you'd been _my_ child, I would've tossed you out the minute you touched that clothing, but our Lord has kept you well in this house. You should be on your knees thanking him, and instead you run around acting like a disgusting muggle!" Hadrian merely raised his eyebrows, and waited for his aunt to finish her tirade.

"It must be the bad blood from your mother," she continued. "Why my father ever claimed the bastard child of some stupid muggle whore I'll never know."

Hadrian's eyes narrowed. Any words directed at him could be easily rebuffed, but the one thing he could not stand was someone degrading his mother. Scarlett Sable had been a brilliant witch, quick-witted and powerful, but yet she was looked down upon because of her heritage and upbringing. The product of an affair between Cygnus Black and an unidentified mother, she had been adopted and raised by muggles who gave her the name Lily Evans. After learning of her adoption and being accepted to magical school, she had quickly reverted to the use of her birth name and assimilated into wizarding culture. How she came by the name Sable was unknown, as the last branches of the pureblooded Sable line were supposed to have died out decades earlier. However, the circumstances of her adoption had led many to believe that her mysterious mother, Hadrian's grandmother, had been a muggle or a squib. This, to any pureblood of standing, made Scarlett Sable barely valuable, at best. Hadrian had spent countless arguments defending her to anyone who dared to insult her or her heritage.

"You shouldn't speak about my mother that way, or you'll be the one answering to my father." It wasn't an entirely empty threat. The Dark Lord had forbidden any mention of Scarlett Sable's unknown heritage when he had chosen her to bear his children, but it was an order that most of the Death Eaters, especially the ones from ancient pureblood families, ignored whenever they thought they could get away with it.

"I'll speak about that dirty bitch any way I want, little boy. You can't do anything about it, and you know it," Bellatrix snapped. Hadrian glared at her.

"Oh, poor Hadrian," Bella said, faking a pout. "Daddy dearest isn't here to protect your whore mother's name. And if you tell him, who do you think he'll believe? One of his highest ranking Death Eaters? Or his dirty-blooded, disobedient failure of a son?"

Hadrian had nothing to say. He knew that, in this one instance, Bellatrix was probably absolutely correct. His father wouldn't listen to him even if he did want to tell.

"Your mother was a source of shame and disgrace to the House of Black, and so are you, though least _one_ of you has turned out right. I suppose I can only wait for Domitian to be chosen as the Heir: then we can dispose of you properly. An ugly death is no more than you deserve." She smiled wickedly again as she finished.

"If you're quite done making useless noise, Bellatrix, I have somewhere to be." Hadrian brushed past Bellatrix and turned the corner, walking a few more hallways to be sure that he was far away from anyone who would notice him leaving before stepping into an alcove and disapparating.

Normally Hadrian sneaked out for the express purpose of wandering muggle London on his own, but today Hadrian had a strange desire to be somewhere different, so he apparated to a quiet, concealed corner just inside Knockturn Alley before leaving it and heading for its friendlier, more legal counterpart, Diagon Alley. Bellatrix's news had suddenly made it seem like an exceptional day to stay out of the manor for a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! I was at a rehearsal last night and forgot to update. This chapter is longer than the previous one, so enjoy. Thank you for all of your alerts, favorites, and feedback.**

Chapter 3

Hadrian purposely stayed in Diagon Alley long enough to make himself late for dinner, returning nearly ten minutes after the unspoken set time for the evening meal: seven o' clock. It was an interesting night to be late, considering who was supposed to make an appearance.

Dinner at the manor on a normal night consisted of Hadrian, Domitian, Bellatrix, her husband and brother-in-law, and occasionally the Malfoy family and one or two Death Eaters who were allowed lodging within the Dark Lord's ancestral home for various reasons. When the Dark Lord was actually around, however, things proceeded a bit differently. On nights like this, the table was always crowded with ten or fifteen sycophantic Death Eaters who were being favored by their invitation to dine at their master's table. However much he disliked these meals, Hadrian didn't have much choice in the matter of attendance, since his father would always ensure that he was present. He was surprised someone had not been sent to his room to 'escort' him already when it seemed apparent that he would be late.

Hadrian was, of course, the last to arrive in the dining room. He noticed that his seat, the one directly to the Dark Lord's right, was the only one empty. Predictable, since he was the only guest who dared to be late on a semi-regular basis, and he didn't like sitting around and having to converse with others while waiting for a meal.

Tradition actually dictated that Domitian, as the firstborn, should have had that seat, but they had switched positions a year ago, probably because their father had grown tired of listening to Hadrian's constant squabbles with Bellatrix, who was seated at the second place on the left. Domitian had fumed about the switch for days, believing that he had been cheated out of some sort of rightful inheritance. Of course, he didn't dare say anything about it in front of their father.

Ah, yes. Their father. There he was, at the head of the table, in all his brooding, aristocratic glory. Enemies who had survived encounters with him told their families and friends stories of Lord Voldemort, whose cruel smile could terrify a grown man, but those enemies had only caught glimpses of him in the midst of battle or during a round of torture. Not that the Dark Lord wasn't frightening–Hadrian knew he was that, and more–but he was not as inhuman-looking as his enemies made him out to be. For all his feared reputation, the Dark Lord's real strength was in his attractiveness and his charisma. No one who had actually gotten a good look at the Dark Lord could deny that he was handsome, albeit a cold, cruel, disdainful sort of handsome, a handsome that compelled you to prove yourself worthy of him.

Fine, sleek, black hair much like Hadrian's own fell in natural, handsome waves around the Dark Lord's face. He had high cheekbones and black lashes that framed glittering, crimson eyes, eyes that were currently trained on the observing Hadrian with a look that conveyed more than simple displeasure.

As he crossed the room, Hadrian carefully took note of his father's glare. He wasn't sure whether the anger was a product of the lateness, the muggle attire, or some other hidden misdeed his father had uncovered. Perhaps it was a combination of things. Regardless, Hadrian knew that look meant something unpleasant for him.

He reached for his chair, but some invisible force stopped him from touching it.

"I hope you don't expect to dine at this table dressed like a common muggle, Hadrian," the Dark Lord intoned. It was more than a normal, paternal reprimand; it was a lightly veiled threat, and anyone who heard would know it.

"Ah. So you _did_ notice," Hadrian returned lightly, pretending to examine his fingernails. Games of rebellion such as this were as common between himself and his father as childish mocking was between himself and Bellatrix. In fact, Hadrian had gone out of his way in the last few months to make the conflicts more frequent than ever. However, this was the first time Hadrian had dared to make such a struggle so public.

"These clothes are new. I rather like them," Hadrian continued casually. Of course, it was a lie. The clothes weren't new, and Hadrian couldn't care less what he wore. But, as Hadrian saw it, the more conflict he had with his father, the better.

The Dark Lord gave what seemed to be a rather put-upon sigh. "Hadrian, if you insist on acting like a disgusting muggle, then I shall be forced to treat you as one." There it was again, that threat masquerading as a mild chastisement. Hadrian almost betrayed his mental shudder. He was not ignorant of the sort of treatment his father used on muggles, and didn't particularly want to imagine himself in that position. Not that he was likely to receive anything more than a short and minor Cruciatus Curse, as they were presently in company, but still...

Across the table from Hadrian's place, Domitian and Draco were glancing at each other around Bellatrix and grinning wickedly at the thought of their favorite rival being punished by the Dark Lord. Domitian had even forgotten his composure enough to snort in quiet laughter.

The Dark Lord addressed his most loyal female Death Eater, while keeping his cold glare fixed on Hadrian. "Bellatrix, do keep your nephews quiet. This is not their concern." Well, that was certainly new, Hadrian thought. The term 'nephew' was usually applied to him when his father was displeased with him, and never to Domitian until now.

"I'm waiting, Hadrian."

Hadrian thought it through for a moment. As much as he hated to submit, wearing his jeans to dinner wasn't worth enduring 'Crucio' in front of the whole room, and he had already gotten his point across sufficiently well.

With a quick flourish of his wand, his muggle jeans and t-shirt became simple but elegant black robes. He reached for his chair once again and, finding that he could touch it, sat back down.

"Acceptable." The tone was approving, but the eyes said there would be hell to pay later.

The food finally appeared at the table before them. Hadrian listened to all of the quiet conversations within earshot, not deigning to contribute to any, and picking at his food. This meal was more intimate than some of its kind; the table hosted less than thirty wizards and witches in total, and nearly half of them were part of the Dark Lord's inner circle.

Hadrian noticed, from his occasional glances, that his father ate very little, as was usual. While everyone else was expected to feast, the Dark Lord quietly surveyed his followers over the rim of his wine glass. Hadrian also noted that the eyes were directed towards him more often than they were towards any other. This wasn't good.

As Hadrian finished and rose to leave the table, a cold, strong hand caught his wrist.

"You will come to my study at precisely nine o' clock tonight, is that understood?" the Dark Lord's tone left no room for argument. Then again, it usually didn't, and Hadrian often argued anyway.

Hadrian nodded his understanding and twisted out of his father's grip, turning to leave.

"And you had better not be wearing those filthy muggle clothes again," the Dark Lord added. Hadrian did not deign to respond and simply left the room.

Hadrian sighed as he looked at the "filthy muggle clothes" in his wardrobe. In another circumstance, he would've ignored his father's warning, but he knew already that he was in trouble and thought it best not to anger the Dark Lord any further.

Not that he cared what his father thought, of course.

This sudden attention was an unwelcome change for Hadrian. Having received very little childhood attention from his father, even when he'd wanted it, Hadrian was accustomed to being ignored. He'd occasionally had to face his father's discipline when he had done something stupid, but for the most part, those matters were taken care of by his mother or, after her death, his various tutors. When the Dark Lord had come to check on the twins' progress, Hadrian had always been ignored in favor of Domitian, no matter how well he'd done. And, for the most part, Hadrian's father had left him well enough alone for the last few years, notwithstanding the times he'd been reprimanded or disciplined.

It wasn't that he feared his father's wrath so much as that he disliked his attention. The man had been taking more and more interest in Hadrian's actions for the last week, and it made Hadrian uneasy. He was ninety-nine percent certain that the Dark Lord had no idea that he planned to leave the manor before the end of July. He was even more certain that if the Dark Lord had discovered his intentions, he wouldn't stand a chance against him.

Hadrian glanced another time at his watch and cleared all thoughts of his escape thoroughly from his mind and shut his wardrobe. It was time for the face-off.

Hadrian steeled himself and knocked three times on the heavy door.

"Enter."

He did so, looking around for his father. The man was, as usual, at his desk, pouring over some thick, dusty volume that was probably a few hundred years old.

"I'm sure, Hadrian, that you are more than aware that this room is off limits to everyone without my express permission," the Dark Lord began.

Hadrian cursed in his mind and tried to remain outwardly stoic. He knew where this was going, but how had the man found out?

As if reading his thoughts, his father continued, "I noticed when I returned that someone had seen fit to borrow my library, and had been a bit lax in picking up after himself." His long, white fingers held up one of the books Hadrian had been studying. _Shadows: The Dark Secrets of Concealment_.

Shit. All that work with the wards, and he'd been given away by an out-of-place book?

"Once I saw this, it was relatively simple to undo the work you did with my wards and find out who had been here. You did an admirable job of that, by the way, so I can only assume that you hoped to try to hide this from me."

Shit, shit, shit.

"Well?"

_Why_ didn't he remember to put the book back? Stupid, stupid mistake. How had he been so careless? What would happen now?

"I was hoping, Hadrian, that you would have come to your senses by now and desisted with your ridiculous behavior. I can see I was wrong. I've been more than patient with your disrespect for your tutors for some time now, and I've allowed those muggle rags you wear, indulged you with them, even. But invading my personal library? Wandering muggle London?"

He even knew about the sneaking out. The man knew _everything_, damn it.

"It's not any of your business," Hadrian protested hotly. Without a sound to warn him, Hadrian found himself frozen by an invisible force, his arms stuck to his sides. He couldn't even speak.

"I can see I've been far too lenient with you, Hadrian," the Dark Lord announced, "and I can assure you, things are going to change."

Hadrian could feel the cold, varnished tip of a wand roaming along his collarbone, over his Adam's apple, under his chin.

"Effective as of now, you are under certain restrictions which will be enforced directly by myself. You will attend all of your scheduled tutoring sessions, and heed the instructions you receive during their course. You will arrive on time and dressed appropriately for dinner, whether I am present or not. For that matter, you will dispose of all of the _contemptible_ muggle clothing you are hoarding in your wardrobe. You will under no circumstances venture into muggle London, and I believe it goes without saying that you will no longer enter this study or any of my other private rooms without my consent. Any sort of infraction will be reported to me and dealt with appropriately." The wand jabbed sharply into Hadrian's chin. "You will act like the wizard that you are, and not some muggle scum that wandered in off of the street, do you understand?"

Still unable to speak, Hadrian nodded.

"I do hope so, Hadrian. I can assure you that you will not like the consequences for disobedience."

Hadrian longed to make a sarcastic retort, but had no way of doing so and fumed silently instead.

"You are dismissed."

The spells around him lifted, and Hadrian twisted out the door, slamming it behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this is later than usual. I didn't have class today, and thus did not get out of bed until now. Happy late Easter to everyone, and to anonymous reviewer Syril whom I couldn't reply to: Thank you so much. Your review for the last chapter made my day.  
><strong>

Chapter 4

Hadrian woke up in the morning with a splitting headache that did nothing to improve his mood.

The encounter from the previous night had left his head spinning. Nothing about it made sense. Hadn't his father always gone out of the way to show contempt for him, while approving of Domitian? Why then, so close to their seventeenth birthday, would the Dark Lord choose to regulate his behavior? He had gone the better part of four years acting the way he had, and no one had ever before given him so much as a glance.

Well, that was technically a lie. He had received a good many glares from Bellatrix, Lucius, and various tutors he had pissed off at one time or another, but they hadn't demanded his respect, hadn't tortured him or threatened him beyond going to his father about his misdeeds. And now he was suddenly expected to stick to regimented standards of proper behavior?

In many ways, Hadrian was surprised that his father hadn't just killed him already. It wasn't as though he would be needed after Domitian was named Heir, and he certainly wasn't obedient. His father had often shown that he had no qualms about disposing of anything or anyone that wasn't useful.

He was sorely tempted to believe that the entire incident had been a bizarre dream. He hadn't had more than one glass of wine at dinner, had he?

Nothing made sense anymore. Instead of trying to think about it, Hadrian threw himself into a hot shower and let his mind relax.

Fifteen minutes later, Hadrian stood before his wardrobe, running a hand through his dark, still-damp hair and wondering what to do.

The Dark Lord had told him to get rid of his muggle clothes, the ones he would normally wear on a day such as this. That edict alone would have made most men burn the clothing without a second thought, but not Hadrian. No one on earth besides himself could open the wardrobe, so only he could make sure such a thing happened. Those clothes reminded him of his mother, in a roundabout way. Not to mention that his father had spent most of the last seventeen years ignoring Hadrian, and what right did he have now to dictate the clothing Hadrian wore? The utter strangeness of the situation hit Hadrian again, bringing his headache back with it.

Shortly, Hadrian made his decision. He'd wear what he wanted, and to hell with what his father said.

He considered ignoring another of his father's rules and skipping his tutoring session, but he realized that it would do little good and decided that he might as well show up at least that day, since he had nothing he considered pressing to do. He might even learn something interesting, although the chances of that were slim to none.

When Hadrian arrived in the room where he was usually tutored, a few doors down from the library, he was pleasantly surprised to find a certain familiar, sallow-faced, black robed man waiting for him.

"Severus?"

Severus Snape was one of the few instructors (and Death Eaters) whom Hadrian actually admired. Despite being somewhat unpleasant in more ways than one, the man was a veritable library of complicated spells and had a sharp, cynical tongue that Hadrian found he could appreciate like few others could. Of course, it didn't hurt that Severus had been one of his mother's closest childhood friends, either. Much of what Hadrian knew about his mother that she had not told him herself came from Severus, who, when Hadrian was younger, would rarely hesitate to share a story or two about their days at school.

Through this tentative respect and common connection, Hadrian had built up a sort of confidence between himself and Severus, and he was usually honest with the man where he could not be honest with others. Of course, not even Severus knew all of his secrets.

"Hadrian. I see you finally decided to grace me with your noble presence." As usual, every word out of the man's mouth was dripping with disdain.

"I'm sure the ten minutes we both lost was rather better spent than it would have been if I'd arrived on time."

"Yes, well, regardless of how that time was spent, I will have to inform your father."

Hadrian blew a long-suffering sigh. "So he's told you all of it, then?"

"He's told me no more or less than what he believes I should know, which is that he desires myself or any of his senior Death Eaters currently in residence here to report to him if you have been comporting yourself in a manner disgraceful to your heritage."

Hadrian briefly wondered whether those last words were Severus's or his father's. "I see. So now you're suddenly going to report everything about me to him, like a good little lapdog."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Believe it or not, I have made reports to your father on every lesson I have ever had with you, as have your other tutors. This is not a new development."

Damn it. That explained a lot; Hadrian wanted to kick himself for not realizing it earlier. "Of course it isn't," Hadrian replied, frustrated.

"If you're quite finished questioning me about your father, I would suggest that you sit down so we can begin."

Hadrian relented and took his seat across from Severus, opened the dusty volume set before him, and began to work through the archaic print.

Nearly three hours later, Hadrian was finished with his tutoring for the day and was wandering down toward the kitchens to find lunch. His enthusiasm for food was sufficiently dampened when he saw his twin already in the kitchen.

"I didn't think you were lowly enough to come down to get food yourself, Domitian." The remark wasn't really untrue; Domitian preferred utilizing the house elves in any possible capacity to actually going anywhere in the manor himself.

The shocked older twin turned around to face his brother.

"Oh, really? And I thought you'd still be in bed moping at this time, today."

"_Moping?_" Hadrian raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out why his brother would...

Oh, God.

It was the 28th of June, the anniversary of their mother's death. Hadrian had never forgotten this day since it had happened. Every year, he had spent this day remembering his mother, doing something she would have liked, and going through the books in her room, which he had made sure was left exactly as it was the night she died.

Every year but this year. Because this year, he had forgotten all about it, and it had taken bloody _Domitian_ to remind him.

Hadrian scowled to himself. Of course, it was really all his father's fault. The Dark Lord had been consuming so much of his attention, especially since the day before, and with all of his worries he had barely thought of her.

Yes, it was all his father's fault. Everything was his father's fault.

Hadrian felt a burning urge to destroy something, to get even.

"You've finally realized, then?" Domitian smirked. That is, until a large copper pot slammed into his stomach.

Hadrian crossed the manor in record time and stood in front of the door to his father's study. With no reason to be stealthy this time, Hadrian shattered the lock with a magical force that would have been enough to reduce any normal wooden door to dust, and broke the wards that would keep him from entering the study, allowing the other alarms to continue emitting bursts of magic.

He whipped his wand through the air, causing books to come flying off of their shelves and curtains to rip themselves from the windows. Furniture was tipped over, windows rattled. Somehow, it wasn't enough.

Hadrian looked around the room for something suitable to destroy, something more he could use as revenge. He found the perfect target on an anchored table underneath the center window in the study.

The Dark Lord's Scrying Glass was actually a stone bowl with a bright, reflective inner surface. It was an ancient, and rather darker, version of a Foe Glass, allowing the user to see any of his enemies in any location for a sacrifice of corresponding worth. It was one of his father's more valuable possessions.

With furious precision, Hadrian hefted the heavy bowl and hurled it against the wall with enough force to crack it down the center. He picked it up and threw it down onto the floor, again, and again, and again, until it was in smaller pieces than he could easily break. Those pieces he proceeded to crush under the heel of his boot.

When the Scrying Glass was nothing but chunks of stone and shiny dust under his feet, he stopped. Hadrian glanced one last time around the room before apparating away.

It was half past one in the morning when Hadrian finally appeared back in the gardens of the manor. Hoping the crack of apparition hadn't gained anyone's attention, he quickly glanced over at his father's windows at the end of the north wing. All of them were dark, so the Dark Lord likely wasn't there. Hadrian was a bit puzzled-surely his father would have sensed the alarms that went off when Hadrian broke through the wards, and was eager to come after him-but he was too exhausted and too grateful for the man's absence to dwell on the thought. He had one more thing to do, before he could sleep.

Hadrian slipped through the garden, between high shrubs and small, well-trimmed trees, until he came to the very back, where a low stone wall ran between the gardens and the rest of the grounds. Most of the gardens at the manor displayed a wide variety of very rare, very expensive, and very magical plants. This back portion was the exception; all of the plants here were completely non-magical. No magic was used to tend them, either, except for a little bit of climate-tempering to make them all grow properly. In front of the wall, there was a carved stone angel statue looking down over the garden, its hands clasped over its heart. This had been his mother's space, when she was alive.

His mother had always changed some of the plants every year, but with no new instructions, the elves had simply replanted the same flowers for the last nine years. Hadrian remembered all of the flower names; his mother had taught him which ones were which just a few days before her death.

Night Blooming Jasmine. Asiatic Lilies. Arrowwood Viburnum. Oriental-Trumpet Lilies. Martagon Lilies.

All of the flowers were some variation of white or scarlet in color. Lilies were his mother's favorite flower: especially scarlet lilies, she had said, because she was a Scarlet and a Lily. The Martagon lilies were scarlet.

As usual, everything was in bloom this time of year except for the Oriental-Trumpets. Hadrian pointed his wand at a few of them and uttered a soft spell, causing the flowers to open up before his eyes. He crouched on the path and selected a few of the best of each type of flower, arranging them neatly into a sort of bouquet, before walking a little further up the path and placing them at the angel's feet, where words had been carved into the stone base:

MATRI OPTIMAE

IN MEMORIA AETERNA

AMA ET BELLA GERANT ALII

"I'm sorry I wasn't here today, Mother," Hadrian murmured. "I'm sorry for letting him take over, for forgetting you because of him. How does he do that? Everything that happens in the manor revolves around him, you know. You always knew that, of course, probably better than I did. Soon everything in the world will be about him."

He sighed, and paused a moment before continuing. "I don't know what he's trying, Mum, setting all sorts of ridiculous rules for me like he cares about my behavior. But I won't let him get the better of me. I am going to get away, like you told me to do. I won't be killed. I won't let you be forgotten either. I'll do better, for both of us."


	5. Chapter 5

**Twelve hours late, aren't I? Apologies. Real life got in the way again. Deep thanks to all of my readers. I apologize for this chapter; it feels very contrived even to me. Hopefully some of you will like it better than I.**

Chapter 5

Hadrian woke to the unpleasant sensation of someone yanking him out of bed by his forearm. He gasped and shivered as cool air met his bare, sweat-slicked torso.

"Come on, get up!" a voice demanded.

Hadrian grimaced. He was uncomfortably groggy, and it was still dark outside his window. "_Whutime'zit_?" he murmured.

"It is nearly four o' clock," the voice responded curtly, whoever owned it still yanking on Hadrian's arm.

"In the _morning_?" Hadrian's eyes snapped open a little wider at that. He hadn't even been in bed for three hours. "What the hell are you doing, then?"

"Your father has requested your presence."

Oh. That's right, he was in trouble.

Shit.

"Couldn't this wait until it's _light_ outside?" Hadrian grumbled, more to himself than anyone. He knew the complaint wouldn't do anything to affect the Death Eater who had come on the Dark Lord's orders.

"Get moving." This command was punctuated by another sharp pull on Hadrian's arm. Hadrian gave in and slid out of bed, snatching his wand from under his pillow as he went.

The march to the Dark Lord's private study was at once too quick and incredibly slow. Hadrian was all too aware that he had not had enough sleep. His limbs were as heavy as lead, the hair on the back of his neck prickled in anxiety, and he was incredibly pissed off. Of course, his father had probably come back at such a bizarre hour on purpose; he wanted Hadrian to know that _he _was in control and that Hadrian hadn't gotten away with anything. Not for the first time, Hadrian wished that he'd had a normal father instead of a psychotic megalomaniac.

Whichever Death Eater had been sent to collect Hadrian opened the study door, thrust Hadrian in, and disappeared down the hall after a quick bow and a murmured 'milord'.

Hadrian looked around and was disappointed, but not surprised to see the room looking completely unspoiled, as though he had never been there just over twelve hours ago. In particular, he noticed the Scrying Glass repaired to exactly as it had been before he'd touched it and sitting on the same table, as if it was mocking him. He spotted his father unusually far from his desk, standing in front of the window Hadrian had looked at from the garden earlier. "Do you realize that it's _four o' clock_ in the morning?" Hadrian asked.

Angry crimson eyes met green, and before he could react, Hadrian's wand was pulled from his grasp. "I am more than aware of the time," the Dark Lord said, "and _you_ would do well to shut your mouth."

Yes, Hadrian certainly was in trouble. This was bad.

"I can't say that I expected to have to deal with you so soon, Hadrian. I knew you would break the rules eventually, but you didn't even last a day. How disappointing. I knew you had something of a discipline problem, but this..." the Dark Lord shook his head, and Hadrian bit his tongue to keep from lashing out at the man.

"Are you eager for punishment?"

"Oh, yes. I _love _being dragged out of bed at four in the morning to endure torture," Hadrian spat.

"And yet you still broke your rules."

"_Your_ rules, not mine," Hadrian countered. "Why would I agree to do anything that you bloody made up?"

"_Crucio_."

Pain. Burning, biting, all-consuming pain coursed through every one of Hadrian's nerves, and he collapsed under its intensity. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt so much longer.

"Control your flippant tongue, Hadrian. Consider that your warning; next time, it will be longer."

Hadrian gathered himself up off the floor to shoot the Dark Lord a death glare.

"Not even counting this recent disrespect, you've made it painfully apparent that you require a great deal of my personal attention."

Hadrian wanted very much to say that no, he didn't bloody require _anything _from the man, but he kept his mouth shut.

The Dark Lord continued. "Now that you've proven yourself to be untrustworthy on your own, I see only one appropriate solution. Until I see fit to let you do otherwise, you will accompany me everywhere."

"_What?_"

"You will not be let out of my sight until I can trust that you will behave as you are supposed to. Every instance of rule-breaking I catch will earn you punishment. Act appropriately, and you might be rewarded."

An unpleasant combination of horror and confusion filled Hadrian. Horror, because he was now expected to spend an indefinite amount of time with _his father_, and how would he plan an escape from directly under his father's nose? And confusion, because his punishments had never been so creative, or so distinctly unpleasant, before. This wasn't the first time he'd done something to anger the Dark Lord, but he usually just received a healthy dose of the Cruciatus or some other equally painful curse, and went on his merry way. What was different now? Had his father finally realized that base torture wasn't effective, and that he should try other methods to gain Hadrian's attention?

And what was this about being rewarded? Hadrian nearly snorted. His father hadn't rewarded him once in his life, even before he'd been rebellious, even before his mother's death. The day the Dark Lord _rewarded_ him, Hadrian would drop dead of shock.

Apparently, his father thought he'd had enough time to digest this new information. "Now, get up. I have a schedule to keep. You'll be coming back to Obscurus with me."

Hadrian openly grimaced. Obscurus was the fortress and headquarters where the Dark Lord and his followers made their plans, and also where his father spent most of his time. Hadrian had seen the place on a few occasions, and had always found the place to be rather boring and confining. Furthermore, he would be there for an indefinite amount of time, with his _father_.

He turned to head back out the door, but an iron grip on his arm stopped him.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Hadrian had a quick reply. "To my room. In case you haven't noticed, I'm wearing pajamas because it's _four in the bloody morning_!"

The grip tightened in warning. The Dark Lord wouldn't tolerate any more disrespect. "So you've mentioned."

"You _want_ me to appear in Obscurus wearing only my sleep pants? That's incredibly proper behavior. Not to mention that it's bloody cold there!"

Hadrian winced as a stinging hex strong enough to leave a welt bit into his shoulder. Another warning.

"Certainly not. However, I _don't_ want you running back to your room and attempting some sort of half-thought escape. "

Well, damn. There went that plan.

"Put these on."

A set of nondescript black robes appeared in Hadrian's hands, his own, he realized.

"How did you-"

"Clean laundry from the house elves downstairs," his father supplied. Hadrian caught himself before he could sigh in relief. His father hadn't found a way to break into his wardrobe. Yet.

Hadrian shrugged the robes on quickly, trying to avoid any _encouragement_ from his father. As soon as he was dressed and halfway decent, Hadrian felt one of the Dark Lord's arms hook under his as the other snatched the collar of his robes, and they apparated away.

They appeared directly inside the Dark Lord's personal study in Obscurus. Not three seconds later, Hadrian realized something was distinctly wrong.

"My wand. I want it back."

The Dark Lord turned his crimson eyes on Hadrian. "You will have your wand back when _I_ decide you can have it, and not before."

"_What?_"

"Until I can trust you not to act stupidly with it, I will keep your wand except when you need it for your studies."

"My studies?"

"You didn't think that your punishment meant that I would let you slack off in your work, did you? No, you'll continue your tutoring sessions wherever I happen to be when they're scheduled, and I will know if you are performing to your full potential."

Hadrian glared again. Not only did he have to do homework for the duration of his punishment, but he wasn't allowed to be lazy, either. This situation just kept getting worse.

"Sit over there and read something from that bookshelf," his father instructed, pointing to a corner behind the desk near the glowing fireplace.

"No chance that I could catch a nap, instead?" The comment was loaded with bitter sarcasm.

"Did I say you could sleep?" was the Dark Lord's response. Bloody bastard.

Hadrian bit off a cheeky response and walked over to the bookshelf, saving his energy for a bigger battle. He scanned the books on the shelf, hoping in vain to find something that could annoy his father; they were the Dark Lord's books, after all, and there was little chance of finding something to displease him here.

A tattered brown volume on the end of a shelf caught his eye: Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_. Hadrian had read it before, when he was thirteen or so, but he hadn't realized that the Dark Lord kept a copy. It had been written by a muggle, after all. Plucking the book from its shelf, Hadrian settled into the corner chair and began to read. The warmth of the fire actually made him rather comfortable...

Hadrian was startled awake by another stinging hex, this one directed at his leg. Only then did he realize that he had indeed fallen asleep.

"I believe I told you to stay awake," the Dark Lord said, not even looking up from whatever was on his desk.

"Right. Fat chance, since I haven't even had three hours of sleep," Hadrian muttered.

The Dark Lord paused in his work to look at Hadrian. "You would be sleeping right now if you had obeyed me instead of venturing off to Merlin-knows-where."

Hadrian was torn between scowling and smiling. Of course, he was annoyed with his father, but _Merlin-knows-where..._could it be possible that his father truly did not know where he'd been yesterday? Hadrian hoped so. As many secrets as his father seemed to know, he wasn't privy to everything, and that meant that Hadrian's chances of successfully running away were still fairly good...if he could get out from under his father's constant watch before his birthday.

At that moment, Hadrian promised to put all of his energies into being as well-behaved as he would need to be to get himself out of his father's clutches. It wouldn't be easy, but he could do it. It wasn't as if he didn't know how.

Resolution made, Hadrian turned back to his book. It was going to be an interesting day.


	6. Chapter 6

**I sincerely apologize for the shortness and lateness of this chapter. And, to give further bad news, I will not be updating at all next week. I have tech week (the last week of rehearsals before a performance, for you non-theatre people) for two shows back to back, so I will have no time to write. I will try to post Chapter 7 by Tuesday, May 24, to ensure quality writing for you and adequate sleep and sanity for me. Cheers!**

Chapter 6

Hadrian spent the next several hours staring at his book and trying to keep himself from nodding off-quite a difficult task, given the nearby fire and his already sleep-clouded mind.

What must have been several hours later, a brusque, respectful knock sounded at the door.

"Enter."

The door opened to reveal Lucius Malfoy in his Death Eater robes, holding his mask at his side.

"My Lord," he greeted with an efficient bow. As he looked up, he caught sight of Hadrian in the corner. "Young Hadrian," he added, barely a trace of his usual sneer present in his voice.

Hadrian scowled. As much as he couldn't stand Draco, he probably hated Lucius more. He had a history with the man longer than his history with Bellatrix, probably because where Bella's insults were mostly ridiculous and failed to provoke him, Lucius's quiet, cutting comments could often make him lose all sense.

"I didn't realize you knew my name, Lucy. I'm touched," Hadrian replied, not bothering to mask his sarcasm.

The Dark Lord stood, leveling his crimson gaze at the teen. "Now, Hadrian, Lucius is not only your uncle, but one of my most trusted generals. Don't you believe he is deserving of more respect?" His tone was dangerously icy, warning retribution if Hadrian dared to disagree.

Hadrian couldn't help it; he looked directly into his father's eyes and spoke. "I don't see why I should respect those who don't respect me."

And, suddenly, he was _burning_. His eyes told him he wasn't actually on fire, but his body felt otherwise. It started from his chest and branched out, all the way to his fingers and toes, until every last nerve was being singed by invisible flames.

Looking up, he was met directly with the red eyes that seemed to be following him so much recently.

"Might I remind you, Hadrian, that you have not proven yourself _worthy_ of respect with your behavior?"

Hating himself for being weak, hating his father for exploiting that weakness, Hadrian was forced to look away.

Without turning away from Hadrian, the Dark Lord spoke to his Death Eater. "Excuse Hadrian, Lucius. He has proved himself incapable of proper behavior and is therefore under my constant supervision until he corrects himself."

Hadrian _hated _his father, making him sound like some sort of bloody toddler just because he skipped a few classes and wore jeans. He wanted nothing more than to shout obscenities at both of them and storm off, but he was helpless against his father's magic and could do nothing but glare.

"Apologize to Lucius, Hadrian." It was a demand.

Hadrian made no attempt to speak, and the burning feeling intensified. He clenched his teeth, dug his nails into his palms, but nothing could take his mind away from the pain. It wasn't nearly as bad as the Cruciatus, but it just _wouldn't stop_!

Thoroughly despising himself, Hadrian ground out through gritted teeth, "I apologize for being disrespectful, Lucius."

Almost immediately the burning abated, and Hadrian felt a blissful cool sensation take its place.

"Now that wasn't so difficult, was it, Hadrian?" The Dark Lord's eyebrow arched, and a smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

Hadrian glared at his father, and at Lucius for good measure.

"You have something to report, Lucius?" the Dark Lord said, returning to his desk. Hadrian tuned out their conversation and returned to his book. He didn't really care to know what the Dark Lord had conquered now, especially if the news was coming from Lucius.

The morning wore on with few interruptions or occurrences. Hadrian almost rolled his eyes at how _mundane_ the entire thing was. Most of the world assumed that the Dark Lord spent all of his time raiding muggle villages and torturing captured enemy wizards, and instead he was holed up in an office pouring over maps and documents. Not that he didn't do his fair share of the other things as well, Hadrian knew, but still, the whole idea seemed ridiculous.

True to his word, Hadrian's father called Severus at about ten in the morning and had him conduct Hadrian's tutoring session in the study while he worked. Hadrian was finding it hard not to fall asleep again. Though he had managed well enough after Lucius came in, his body had suddenly decided that it needed more sleep. Severus had to admonish him several times to pay attention when his eyes began to glaze over.

It was when Severus was going over his work from their last session, however, that things got interesting. Hadrian was studying warding, and had been planning several layers of strategic protection around an imaginary building based on two ritual wards: the _Gladius Primum Viri _and the _Cruor Verus_.

"Why did you exchange the _Cruor Verus_ ritual for an _Aegis_ bond?" Severus asked him suddenly, looking up from the parchment.

Hadrian saw his father look over at them, frowning. He shrugged at Severus.

"Something as intricate and specific as an _Aegis _bond will make the shield more vulnerable to attack," Severus insisted.

"I know." Hadrian gave his tutor a pointed glance. It seemed that Severus was about to let the subject pass, but his father was not.

A stinging hex to the back of his neck startled Hadrian. He jumped out of his seat, nearly knocking back his chair.

"What the hell was that for?" he shouted, before another hex stung his hand.

"_Language_, Hadrian," his father admonished. "How many times must I remind you of a command before you follow it?"

"This is stupid! What did I do now, besides breaking the bloody language code?"

Another stinging hex, this time to his thigh.

"Ow! Stop it!"

"I'll remind you again that you wouldn't be in this position if you had obeyed me in the first place. Are you going to sit down and continue your lesson, or do I need to remind you again what happens when you break a rule?"

Knowing the disagreement had gone beyond the Dark Lord's tolerance, Hadrian gritted his teeth, gained control of himself, and sat, fuming.

"Now, I want you to answer Severus's question," the Dark Lord explained, "and I'll admit that I'm curious to know the answer as well. Why did you substitute the ritual?"

"Because I bloody wanted to, alright? _Agh_!" Yet another stinging hex had made contact with his neck.

"Even when you knew that it would make the ward weaker as a whole?"

"So what if it did?"

His father was closing in, looking Hadrian in the eyes. "You are not someone to settle for mediocrity in anything, Hadrian, I know that much. Why did you change the ritual?" Something about his tone suggested to Hadrian that the Dark Lord already knew the answer.

So Hadrian steeled himself before replying, "_Cruor Verus_ is a Dark Arts ritual."

Most would find it a paradox that a son of the Dark Lord could refuse to practice the Dark Arts, but Hadrian hadn't cared much for anyone's opinion when he made the decision. His mother had never liked Dark magic and, despite his success with it, events had eventually led to his decision to move away from the Dark Arts.

The Dark Lord, quite unexpectedly, smiled. "You still have an objection to the Dark Arts?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I do."

The Dark Lord closed his eyes, shaking his head and allowing a chuckle to escape his lips. "Oh, Hadrian. What am I going to do with you?"

"You could try leaving me alone and jumping off a cliff," Hadrian suggested, bracing himself for pain. It never came. His father simply chuckled again.

"Obstinate to the end, just like your mother."

Hadrian's jaw twitched. "Quite."

The Dark Lord took a moment to appraise Hadrian. "We _will_ discuss your little problem with the Dark Arts at another time, Hadrian. Continue, Severus." the Dark Lord said, returning to his work.

"Of course, my Lord," Severus replied.

The lesson continued, but Hadrian found himself distracted for what remained of it. He was surprised that his father hadn't done anything about his refusal to use the Dark Arts before this, but now Hadrian was certain that he would have to face his father about it, and soon. The Dark Lord would not forget about today's incident and would not let it go until Hadrian explained and eventually relented. Unfortunately, this was one battle that Hadrian absolutely refused to concede. Getting out of his father's clutches had just become that much harder.


	7. Chapter 7

**I deeply and profusely apologize for the long wait. It's been more than a month, I know. Hell week happened. Final exams happened. Auditions and general exhaustion and writer's block happened. I'm planning to go back to once a week updates now that I have considerably less to do. Thank you for all of the adds and reviews; they mean so much. Cheers!**

Chapter 7

A week. Only one week, and Hadrian was ready to go out of his mind.

He had barely been out of his father's sight since that hideously early morning, and it was driving him mad. While he read, while he ate, while he slept, his father was watching him. He couldn't even sleep in his own room; he'd been delegated to the lounge in his father's study during the nights, while his father planted himself at his desk and watched him. Two nights out of seven in that week he'd been awoken when some Death Eater had come and demanded his father's attention to something at Obscurus. Hadrian had thus been dragged out of his "bed" and away to the fortress for several hours.

It was nearly nine in the morning when they returned from Obscurus on Friday, and Hadrian collapsed onto the couch, intending to go to sleep. Of course, his plans were shortly interrupted.

The door was thrown open without any warning whatsoever. Despite feeling incredibly sleepy, Hadrian shifted on the couch to get a better view of the idiot who had disturbed his father being cursed out of his mind. It would be nice to see someone else get punished, for a change. Before the Dark Lord could act, however, the man panted, "My Lord, there has been an attack! At Malfoy's...your son–"

The Dark Lord was on his feet immediately, crossing over to grab Hadrian's arm and apparating with him in the blink of an eye.

They appeared in the foyer of Malfoy Manor, where the Dark Lord moved swiftly up the marble stairs, parting the group of people who seemed to be congregated there. Hadrian was dragged along with him, looking curiously around the room. A great chunk of floor seemed to be missing from the top of the stairs, and scorch marks adorned the walls.

"Where is he?" the Dark Lord asked. One of the men gathered on the stairs pointed down the second floor corridor.

"How did this happen?" Dead silence reigned, no one wishing to be the first to speak. "Answer me!"

Finally, one of the men found his tongue. "My Lord, the Order–"

"And how did the Order penetrate this manor?"

Again, silence. The Dark Lord looked around the circle of his followers, eyes blazing. And then...

"Sexton!"

Sexton, a slight, pale man in his early twenties, looked up, visibly shaking.

"My Lord?"

"You have failed me, Sexton. I do not tolerate failure. _Crucio!"_

The man collapsed, hitting his head on one of the stairs as he writhed in agony. His ripping screams were all that could be heard, until an icy smooth voice interrupted.

"My Lord, Domitian–"

Lucius Malfoy stood at the top of the stairs, gesturing down the hall.

The Dark Lord ended the curse with a flick of his wand, leaving the Death Eater named Sexton pale and shuddering on the stairs. "Do not think that I am finished with you," the Dark Lord intoned before turning away. "Now, where is he, Lucius?"

"This way, My Lord." The crowd of Death Eaters on the stairs parted again, and the Dark Lord followed Lucius down the hall, pulling Hadrian along with him.

"We were lucky this time, My Lord," Lucius explained. "The bodyguards caught the brunt of the attack, so Domitian was mostly shielded. However, the curse did catch a portion of his left leg. Several tendons were torn, and he lost a lot of blood–"

"Will he live?"

"Of course, my Lord. Also, there is little risk of any handicap, as the healers were able to reach him so soon."

The Dark Lord made no response, choosing instead to cross his arms and gaze down at his injured son, who was beginning to stir.

"Lucius, if your manor can be breeched, what am I to think of the safety of Obscurus, or of my own manor?"

"The location of my manor is, unfortunately, rather well known, my Lord, and it was not so much that the wards failed this time as that the guards themselves were lax."

"We cannot afford such carelessness among our ranks."

"I agree, my Lord."

"_Father_?"

It was Domitian's voice, groggy-sounding and half-hoarse. The Dark Lord, still in conference with Lucius, made no reply.

Domitian looked around, blinking owlishly, and suddenly spotted Hadrian. "What're _you_ doing here?"

Hadrian rolled his eyes. "What, don't you know?"

"Know what?" Domitian asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Hadrian resisted the urge to laugh. It seemed that Domitian hadn't been informed of his sorry punishment after all.

Deciding it was the perfect opportunity for a little fun, Hadrian replied, "Oh, nothing much. After all, if _Father_ hasn't seen fit to tell you, then I suppose it's not any of your business, is it?"

Domitian's scowl deepened. "Father would never give you anything special, you muggle-loving roach."

"Are you sure about that, Domitian?"

"He wouldn't." The finality in Domitian's voice was belied by the quiver of uncertainty in his expression.

"Maybe he's finally realized that he doesn't want a near-squib for an heir."

"Shut up, you little freak! I've got just as much magic as you have."

Ignoring his brother, Hadrian continued. "Maybe that's why you haven't seen me all week. I've been studying, you know."

"I could crush you if I wanted!"

"I remember that's how it ended _last time_, as well."

"You couldn't do it again. You won't use Dark spells anymore."

Hadrian grinned. "It still doesn't change the fact that you've never landed a hit, Domitian."

"SHUT UP!"

"_Silence!_"

The twins turned from their argument to see their father eyeing them, cold and displeased. Domitian cringed a little under the evaluation, but Hadrian stared back, fire burning in his green eyes.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord said, "have the healer inform me when Domitian is well enough to walk."

"Of course, My Lord."

The Dark Lord then turned to Domitian, who lowered his head, ashamed. "Rest."

"Yes, Father."

"Come, Hadrian." The Dark Lord swept from the room, Hadrian following quickly behind.

"You should know that I do not appreciate your disruptive taunting of Domitian."

Back in the Dark Lord's study with no one else around to react, Hadrian could admit that goading his twin had not been the smartest move on his part. However, he couldn't find it in himself to regret doing it.

"However," the Dark Lord continued, "your little discussion with your brother has reminded me of another subject we must broach, Hadrian."

This did not sound promising.

"When was the last time you used powerful dark magic?"

Hadrian tried to remain silent, but the Dark Lord wouldn't have it.

"Answer me, Hadrian."

"Three years ago," Hadrian muttered. It had been the last time he dueled his twin; the day he had nearly killed Domitian.

His father nodded and began to circle Hadrian where he was standing. "I can tell."

"How?"

"Your magic looks sick."

"Pardon me?"

"_Your magic_, Hadrian. You are well aware of the alluring, almost addicting qualities of the Dark Arts, I'm sure. As a part of your early lessons you performed powerful dark magic, magic that assimilated itself in your own magical core. Now, after several years of doing mostly without it, your magical core is becoming sick, weakened. It appears duller than it should to my sight, and has a different scent, nearly sour."

"Wouldn't I notice something like that?" Hadrian asked, skeptical.

His father shook his head again. "It is particularly difficult to read one's own magic, and it is highly unlikely that you would see anything wrong with it yourself, as it is a very gradual process, especially if you've been dabbling in lesser dark magic on occasion as I suspect you have."

"And how would _you_ know if I have it, then?"

The Dark Lord stopped circling. "I'll ignore your impertinence this time. I recognize the symptoms your magic exhibits. Your mother went through a similar withdrawal during the years prior to her death." Hadrian willed himself to remain stoic as his father continued.

"Soon, your overall magical power will start to diminish permanently. Unless, of course, you resume a regular use of dark magic."

"Of course it will." The sarcasm leapt from his lips unbidden, and Hadrian cursed in his head for not controlling himself better.

But no immediate punishment was forthcoming. "This is not a joke, Hadrian."

"How come I've never heard of any record of this deficiency before? In all the years I've been tutored, someone never thought to say to me, 'Oh, your magic will become weaker if you don't keep practicing the Dark Arts'? There must have been others who experienced such a thing, but I've never come across it in any books."

The Dark Lord obviously understood Hadrian's skepticism. "What would I gain by telling such a lie?"

"Me."

The man chuckled, tapping his yew wand under Hadrian's chin to lift it. "I already have you, Hadrian."

"You'd bloody well like to think so, wouldn't you?"

A stinging hex hit the tender junction between his neck and shoulder. "That's another for language. How many times this week must I make the point to you?"

Hadrian fumed but clenched his teeth together to keep from saying something else he'd regret.

"Why continue such a meaningless protest, Hadrian? Why deny what can only give you strength? Why make such a great effort to keep yourself from harnessing a power that comes as naturally to you as breathing?"

"Shut up."

The Dark Lord turned back to him. "Pardon me, Hadrian?"

"You heard me, damn it! I've followed your ridiculous rules for a week, and I'm sick of this! Stop trying to control me! I'm not one of your stupid servants!"

Sudden pain brought him to his knees and lasted long enough to leave him panting.

"If I wanted to control you the way I control my Death Eaters, you would be in constant pain until you learned obedience. Do you think I allow my servants the freedom I give you?"

"This is freedom?" Hadrian snarled.

A hand found purchase in his hair and yanked back, forcing his gaze up. "This is discipline, Hadrian. Discipline does not make you a slave; it makes you stronger."

Hadrian gathered himself and calmly met his father's stare. "I don't really care for your _discipline_, thanks very much. And, if you think for one second that anything you say to me will change the way I use my magic, you're blinder than I thought you were. Now, let me go."

The anger in the Dark Lord's eyes seemed to sweep through the entire room. Shocks of pain were flaring through Hadrian's body again, more powerful than they had ever been before. He could feel himself slipping out of consciousness as his father spoke again.

"Struggle as much as you like, Hadrian, but you cannot keep this game up forever. This _will_ end."

Hadrian awoke again not long after, and found himself stretched out on the lounge where he'd been sleeping. There didn't seem to be any evidence of his earlier punishment except for a slight, lingering ache throughout his body. He craned his head and found his father seated at his desk as usual, buried in some project or another.

He sat up and stretched as quietly as he could, listening to his joints pop, and leaned back against the lounge to try to sort things out in his head.

He was sure now that his father would not let go of the Dark Arts training that Hadrian had barely managed to escape earlier. What he wasn't sure of was how he was going to get around the obstacle. Of the many promises he had made himself for his mother's sake, one of the highest on the list was that he would no longer get involved with the Dark Arts.

As one of the Dark Lord's 'potential heirs', he'd been introduced to the Dark Arts when he turned ten, and he had discovered that they, along with Transfigurations and defensive magic, were among his greatest strengths. Not long before the twins' fourteenth birthday, their tutors had decided to pit them against each other in a duel to test their skills. When the fight against Domitian had started to heat up, one dark spell had immediately jumped into his mind. Hadrian had incanted without even thinking and left Domitian lying on the ground, a pale, bloody mess. The picture had been eerily similar to the results of a new spell he had tried out when he was six; it had tossed his brother out a third story window to the ground below. While he had not cared for Domitian, and even less now than he used to, the look of disappointment on his mother's face that day when he was younger had been too much for him to bear. After the duel, he had gone to his mother's place in the garden and sworn that he would no longer practice the Dark Arts.

But how could he keep that promise when he was faced with opposition like his father? Hadrian had succeeded in sneaking around his father before, but when he was faced with such a blunt ultimatum, such a direct assault, he didn't stand a chance against the Dark Lord.

He hated how the man could somehow continually reduce him to a child with one command. And that was how he had acted, Hadrian admitted; like a petulant child. Something about facing down the Dark Lord sent his precious self control flying out the window and reduced him to a whining toddler wanting his father's attention.

And what did his father want, anyway, besides Hadrian's obedience? Was it some sort of cruel idea of a last joke, forcing Hadrian under the Dark Lord's thumb before disposing of his "less worthy" son?

Hadrian shut his eyes and turned over. He did not want to think about it.


	8. Chapter 8

**So, a new chapter, as promised. Not much else to say, except to (once again) thank all of my marvelous readers for their adds and reviews. Hope you enjoy. Ta!**

Chapter 8

It was not until the following week that the Dark Lord decided to take action. Tuesday morning, Hadrian woke to find his father at his desk, as usual. He was beginning to wonder if the Dark Lord ever slept, and was inclined to guess 'No'.

Hadrian showered in the bathroom adjoining the study and dressed in the clean robes that kept appearing for him in the bathroom, courtesy of the house elves. He didn't make any attempts to fix his hair, as usual, and stepped back into the study to find his father waiting for him.

"Follow me," he said, and lead Hadrian out of the study, down to the first floor of the wing. Hadrian knew every part of the South wing of the manor, but was largely unfamiliar with his father's wing, so he didn't have any idea where he was being led or what his father was planning.

When they reached a nondescript door near the end of the wing, his father stopped, turned, and offered Hadrian something: a wand. _Hadrian's _wand.

"I will, of course, be taking it back after we are finished here," his father said. Snatching his own wand back, feeling its warm rightness in his palm, Hadrian didn't care.

His father unlatched the door and swung it open, allowing both of them to step inside.

The room was, from what Hadrian could see, completely empty of furniture. It was narrow with high ceilings, and large windows showing the front lawns lined one wall.

"Welcome, both of you, to my private dueling chamber."

_Both? _Hadrian glanced across the room to find none other than Domitian, leaning casually against the far wall. He scowled, and his brother returned the greeting.

Hadrian looked around once again, and noticed something he hadn't consciously recognized before: the room had _aura_. Or something similar, at least, something on the air that tasted dark, and sweet, and delicious. Hadrian recognized the taste; it was the Dark Arts. The room was full of the essence of dark magic, so much so that it sent delightful shivers down Hadrian's spine. But he didn't want his father to see that reaction, not now. With a strength of will that had come from sheer practice, he controlled himself and turned to face his father.

I'm sure you are both wondering why you're here," the Dark Lord said. "Let me explain. I want to see a formal duel between you."

Despite the fact that this was no doubt a part of his father's grand scheme, Hadrian couldn't help the tremulous excitement that was beginning to build in his stomach. Loath though he was to do anything his father wanted, he hadn't had a chance to duel Domitian since they were both thirteen and things had gone so badly. His father must have realized how badly he would want this; that was why they were here. After giving Hadrian this opportunity, the Dark Lord would expect something in return.

The Dark Lord had paused to gauge their reactions, and only then did Hadrian feel his fingernails in his palms and realize that he was clenching his fists. He schooled his expression and slowly uncurled his fingers, hoping his father hadn't noticed.

"No killing or irreparable maiming will be allowed, of course, but with that exception, I encourage you to use any dark spell that comes to mind."

Ah, so that was it. He got a chance to go after his brother, as long as he used dark magic. Now Hadrian was torn. Of course he was eager to best Domitian, but he knew that was what his father was counting on to break him. But, perhaps there was a way he could best _both_ of them.

Domitian had never had superb dueling skills, and he was nowhere near Hadrian's own level, especially while he was still recovering from the assassination fiasco at Malfoy Manor. If he could best his twin using only neutral spells, Hadrian would have beaten his brother _and _his father. It would be a difficult line to walk, of course, especially if Domitian started to show any sort of prowess and throw around Dark Arts spells that would tempt Hadrian. But, if he could pull it off…it would be worth the extra effort.

"Take your places."

Each twin threw the other a look before taking his place at an opposite end of the room. Domitian flourished his wand and made a show of adjusting his robe sleeves while Hadrian assumed a basic stance, mentally preparing himself for the test to come. They locked eyes, nodded to each other and waited for the mark.

"Begin."

"_Impedio Magica_!" Domitian shouted, but Hadrian easily sidestepped the curse.

Domitian cast again. Hadrian ducked, still refusing to return a curse of his own.

"Fight back, you coward!"

"I want you to feel you're doing well," Hadrian returned, smirking. "After all, it wouldn't be much of a duel if I incapacitated you in under a minute."

"_Ignissio!_" he screamed, but Hadrian cast a shield charm, which caught the curse.

"Knowing lots of spells doesn't do any good if you can't aim, Domitian," Hadrian taunted.

"Shut up!" Domitian screamed, and his voice cracked as he started to pant from exertion. "_Diripio Viscera!_"

"Too slow," Hadrian teased as he rolled aside to avoid the spell. He dodged three or four more spells and realized that his brother was already starting to tire. With his own resolve wearing thin, Hadrian finally raised his wand. "_Moenia._"

Domitian turned aside to dodge the curse he thought was coming, and ran straight into…nothing. An invisible wall had sprung up in front of him. He scurried back, only to hit another wall, and again to the sides. He had nowhere to go.

"_Stupefy! Expelliarmus!_"

The spells sent Domitian flying into the corner, where he crumpled in a heap. Hadrian caught his brother's wand in his free left hand and examined it, unconcerned.

"Now, Hadrian, this is hardly what I asked for."

Hadrian turned to face his father. "You said you wanted to see a formal duel. Domitian is disarmed and lying in the corner. I fail to see how this doesn't qualify."

"I also remember encouraging you to use dark magic, and yet you incapacitated your opponent with simple, neutral spells."

Hadrian shrugged. "You said that dark magic was _encouraged_, not required. It's not my fault Domitian is too pathetic to defend against the simplest of spells."

"You're skirting the issue, Hadrian," the Dark Lord said, stepping closer and closer as he raised his wand. "Why do you keep refusing the Dark Arts?"

"He doesn't want to disappoint _her_."

Both wizards turned to Domitian in the corner—Hadrian with a look of rage, the Dark Lord with one of interest. "What was that, Domitian?"

"Don't you know?" Domitian chuckled. "His dear, dirty-blooded mummy is watching him from the grave. He wouldn't want to do anything _naughty_ in front of—"

"Shut up! _Shut up!_" Hadrian raged, kicking his brother out of the corner and training both wands on him. "Don't you _ever_ talk about her that way."

"She's dead, Hadrian. Face it. Mummy was a traitorous bitch, and she's—"

"_Crucio!"_

Red light erupted from each of the wands in Hadrian's hands, striking Domitian full in the chest. Hadrian watched, seething, while his brother screamed and writhed on the floor.

The curse lasted ten seconds before Hadrian felt hands grip his arms.

"That's enough, Hadrian," the Dark Lord intoned.

Hadrian broke the curse off and whirled around, shaking off the hands that held him. He felt sick, and his head had begun to pound, and he knew it was all his father's fault. "You wanted to see dark magic, _Father._ Well, there you go! There's your bloody dark magic!" he screamed. His hair whipped around in a sudden swirling wind, and an electric energy seemed to crackle in the air around him.

"_Control yourself_," the Dark Lord hissed dangerously in Parseltongue.

"No, I won't bleeding _control myself_! That's your job, isn't it? To control me like I'm some fucking animal that you can slaughter as soon as it's not wanted anymore?" The wind grew stronger. The crackling sounded louder.

"_Hadrian, this is your last warning._"

"_Doleo_!" he screamed. Jets of sickly yellow light streamed from each of the wands toward the Dark Lord, who raised his own wand and brought up what looked like a wall of water in front of the spells. As they impacted, the spells seemed to be absorbed into the wall, giving it an eerie yellow glow before the floating mass seeped back into the Dark Lord's wand.

Wide crimson eyes were the last thing Hadrian saw before he crumpled to the ground and everything went black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Later than I wanted, but here it is! I loved everyone's responses to the last chapter, though I won't apologize for the cliffhanger. So, thanks again for reading, reviewing, adding... and whatever else you all are doing in support of this story.  
><strong>

**There is a dream/memory sequence in this chapter that is separated by lines and written in italics. Hopefully, this will keep you guys from complete confusion.**

Chapter 9

Hadrian awoke to a bright light in his eyes. Opening his eyes, he recognized the clean gray ceiling and beams of his own bedroom. He tried to sit up, but he was immediately restrained by a hand on his shoulder.

"Remain where you are," an all-too-familiar, silky voice instructed. "You're too weak to sit up as of yet."

"Should I even ask what happened?" Hadrian whispered. His voice was small and raspy, and he hated it. He sounded weak.

His father chuckled. "You didn't keep control of yourself, Hadrian. Casting spells like the one you used in such a highly emotional state exhausted your magical core. If I hadn't stopped that spell, you might have killed yourself. You've been unconscious for almost twenty hours while your body rested, and I daresay you're still weak."

Hadrian shut his eyes tightly against the bright light and tried to relax into the pillow. It made him uncomfortable, knowing he'd come so close to death in a split second of anger. He knew his father was telling the truth; magical core exhaustion was a very serious problem, especially for wizards and witches who cast raw, powerful Dark Arts spells like the curse he'd cast.

_Crucio. Doleo. _Both dark magic, both remarkably powerful. Both spells he had promised himself not to use after swearing off the Dark Arts. Hell, what had he been thinking? He _hadn't_ thought, he realized. He'd allowed himself to spiral out of control. Everything he'd ever worked for could have gone to hell in that second. He suddenly felt shaken, and he didn't like it.

He felt a cool touch on his face and looked to find pale fingers stroking his cheek. "Don't touch me," he rasped, with not nearly as much vehemence as he would've liked.

He received a cold chuckle in response as the fingers moved slowly up to his forehead, brushing back his bangs.

"I will do whatever I please, Hadrian. You know that."

"Well, then, could it _please_ you to leave me the bloody hell alone?"

"Language, Hadrian," was the silky reply. The fingers worked their way into his hair. "That flippant tongue of yours must have come from your mother."

"Along with my complete lack of boot-licking ability, I'm sure."

Cold fingers turned his chin toward his father's face. "Count yourself lucky that you are indisposed. I would not tolerate your cheek otherwise."

Hadrian, wisely, said nothing, and the fingers that had gripped his face returned to carding slowly through his hair.

"What makes you think that I am so eager to see you die?" his father asked suddenly.

Hadrian remained silent.

"You related yourself to an animal raised for slaughter. Don't you think that's a rather extreme comparison?"

"Not at all." Hadrian shifted in bed, trying to ignore the fingers trailing across his scalp.

"Hmm. You know, Hadrian, the animals raised for slaughter aren't brought up in the family house. And, should they place themselves in a dangerous situation, no allowances are made to rescue them. Among a herd, what is the significance of one lost animal compared to the many?"

Again, Hadrian said nothing.

"Do you really believe that you are of such little value?"

"Is this metaphor going somewhere?" Hadrian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Consider my words, Hadrian. I do not make such effort to save just anyone." The hand withdrew from his hair, and the Dark Lord turned and left the room.

Hadrian huffed and burrowed into the covers, already feeling tired again. Within minutes, he had drifted off.

* * *

><p><em> "Excellent work, boys!" the tutor, a young man they had been instructed to call Anthony, said. "Most children your age wouldn't even be focused enough to do wandwork yet."<em>

_ "That's because they're not the Dark Lord's children," an eight-year-old Domitian replied haughtily while directing the quill he was levitating to float higher._

_ "Not that it didn't take you three days longer than me to learn it," Hadrian muttered, flipping through his spellbook. "I'm bored. I want to try this."_

_ "Hadrian," Anthony scolded, "We won't cover that spell for almost a year yet. It would be better to stick to the spells more towards the front of the book. Why don't we try the levitation charm once more, and then move on to something else."_

_ "An excellent idea, Pierce."_

_ "My Lord!" Anthony whirled and fell to his knees before the Dark Lord, who had suddenly appeared in the library, flanked by Lucius Malfoy._

_ Domitian eagerly rose from his seat. "Father! Have you come to watch us practice?"_

_ "Only for a moment," the Dark Lord replied, crossing his arms. "Pierce, get up and continue with your lesson."_

_ "Of course, my Lord," Anthony replied. "Well, Domitian, would you like to demonstrate the charm you just learned?"_

_ Domitian nodded calmly, remembering his training and trying not to look too excited. "_Wingardium Leviosa,_" he pronounced, causing the quill to once again float into the air and hover a few feet above the desk._

_ "Well done, Domitian," the Dark Lord said, causing his older son to flush red and grin._

_ The moment was interrupted by Anthony, who had fallen to his knees and was howling with laughter._

_ "Do you find something funny, Pierce?" Lucius Malfoy spoke up. Pierce, still laughing so hard his face was turning red, shook his head frantically._

_ The Dark Lord, looking around at his other son, found Hadrian sitting perfectly still at his desk, covering his mouth with one hand._

_ With a flick of the Dark Lord's wand, Anthony was released from the charm and collapsed to the floor, breathing deeply. "I apologize...my Lord," he said. "I told Hadrian...not to skip...ahead. He__–__"_

_ "That will be all, Pierce," the Dark Lord interrupted. "I expect them to be finished with this and the next chapter by next week."_

_ "Of course, my Lord," Pierce answered, but the Dark Lord and Lucius were already walking out the door without another word._

* * *

><p>The next time Hadrian woke, he was alone. He looked around his room, guessing from the slant of the shadows that it was sometime in the late evening.<p>

Where had that stupid dream come from? Well, it was more a memory than a dream, Hadrian conceded. As if he wanted to remember his stupid school lessons, when he had done all the best work, and Domitian had gotten all the coveted praises.

Shaking the dream out of his head, Hadrian was thankful to find that it wasn't difficult to sit up, though doing so left him a bit dizzy. He leaned back against his pillows and picked the tray of food that someone, most likely a house elf, had left for him on the bedside table. The tray disappeared as soon as he had finished, and he leaned back and relished the quiet solitude that he felt couldn't last much longer.

Sure enough, someone opened his door not ten minutes later.

"Good. You're awake."

"Severus?" he asked, looking tiredly in his teacher's general direction.

"How are you feeling?" It was a casual question, but Hadrian knew that Severus cared more about the answer than he would ever admit.

"Fine, I s'pose," he replied. "So you know what happened?"

"All of the inner circle knows what happened, although I doubt it has gone beyond us. Your father specified that it was to be kept quiet."

Hadrian snorted. "Yeah. I don't suppose he'd want the whole army knowing that Domitian is practically a squib. Does your being here mean I still have to have tutoring today?"

Severus rolled his eyes to heaven, but answered the question. "No, your lessons are suspended until three days from now, when the healer has assured the Dark Lord that you will be back at full strength."

The dark-haired man sat on the corner of the bed before Hadrian spoke again.

"What do you think he wants, Severus?"

His tutor frowned. "Your father?"

Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "Of course, my father. Who else?"

"I don't know, Hadrian. He hasn't told any of us what his plans are for you or your brother."

"Why would he punish me like this, though? The entire situation is just so ridiculous. I mean, he went from not giving a shit what I did to monitoring all of my behavior in two seconds flat. And this obsession with getting me back into the Dark Arts...what's the point, if he's just going to kill me later?"

"Perhaps he's not going to kill you."

"He suggested as much to me this morning. But if he doesn't, what _is_ he going to do with me? Everyone knows Domitian is the Heir, we might as well paint it on the walls. And Lucius told us that whoever wasn't the Heir would be killed. Everything I've done since I was eight was centered around the fact that, one day, one of us will sit on a throne next to our father, and the other one will be dead. Now I don't know what to do, and it's all his fault."

"Your father's?"

"He's the one who made me so angry in the first place," Hadrian explained. "This whole week I've been trying to behave and stay under the radar so he'll let me go, and then he throws this stupid duel at me. Damn it, I had everything figured out until he decided to make everything so bloody complicated!"

"Your language leaves something to be desired, Hadrian," Severus said with a small smirk.

"Oh, Salazar! Not you as well," Hadrian complained, but he allowed himself a small smile as well. Severus's inexplicable ability to calm him was working its power once again.

"I wish my mother was here, you know?" Hadrian said quietly to his tutor. "I should have had more time with her. That's my father's fault, too."

"Not entirely."

Hadrian frowned. "What do you mean? He ordered her dead."

"He did," Severus agreed, "but not on a whim."

The teen snorted. "Of course not. He never does anything on a whim."

"Hadrian, your mother..." Severus's pursed lips and furrowed brow were unfamiliar to Hadrian; the man almost never struggled for words.

"Yes?"

Severus sighed. "Perhaps this is a conversation that, dare I say, would be best held with your father."

"You want me to ask my father about killing my mum?" Hadrian asked. "No way. No way in hell."

"Suit yourself, Hadrian. But I believe you would want to know what he has to say."

"If he'd actually say anything."

"Consider it, Hadrian. If anything, at least you'll know." With that, Severus left.

It was the second time that day that Hadrian had been told to consider something. Instead, he promptly fell asleep for a second time and, this time, dreamed no dreams.


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm once again very, very late with this chapter, and I apologize. I got busy again, had guests, went on vacation, lived for a brief time in real life, etc. Hopefully you're all pleased with this chapter; although it seems like a lot of filler, I _promise_ there is a purpose for it.**

** Also, everyone should send a big mental thanks to whichever anonymous reviewer was "Too lazy to sign in" but reviewed all nine previous chapters a few weeks ago. Said reviewer was a big inspiration to me to finish the chapter up, though it took me quite a bit of time to nitpick it to my satisfaction. To that reviewer, I give this message: I never, ever, _ever_ get bored of reading reviews. :) Thus, you now have an update. Ta, everyone!**

Chapter 10

Hadrian woke the next morning to find late morning sun streaming through his windows. He guessed the time to be around half six, and was about to go back to sleep when someone interrupted.

"Young master is awake."

The little scratchy voice that came from the foot of Hadrian's bed doubtless belonged to a house elf.

"What do you-"

Before he could finish his question, the little elf disappeared with a small pop, leaving Hadrian alone. He was about to sink back into sleep again when his door opened and two men stepped in. One of them wore the official gray robes of a healer in his father's army. The other was, of course, his father.

The healer stepped up to his bed and, without hesitation, began to examine him, waving his wand in a diagnostic pattern.

"How do you feel this morning, Hadrian?" The words, shockingly, had not come from the healer.

Hadrian leveled a stare at his father. "Absolutely dandy."

"Hmm. I'm sure."

The healer shined a lit wand in Hadrian's eyes before stepping away. "He's recovering more quickly than I had anticipated. He's already recovered above half strength, although he may still experience some physical weakness."

The Dark Lord nodded in acceptance. "Good. Leave us." The healer quickly scurried off at his master's dismissal.

"So is there any chance I'm off punishment, now that I've been bedridden for a bit?"

His father raised an eyebrow. "What about your actions makes you think you deserve to be released? You disobeyed me, and risked your life and magic to do so. I would call that the definition of acting improperly."

Hadrian said nothing. Put like that, he supposed his request was rather hopeless. Part of him was still puzzling over the new and absurd idea that his father did not want him dead.

"Well, what do you want, then?"

"Patience is a virtue, Hadrian," the Dark Lord replied, drawing a disbelieving look from Hadrian. "But I suppose your freedom is not as far off as I implied. I am here to make you an offer, of sorts."

Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "An offer?"

"I'm gathering the Death Eaters at Obscurus tonight, and I want you to attend. Prove to me that you can behave yourself there, and I will allow you to return to your normal living arrangements."

It sounded too simple. Hadrian's eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"

The Dark Lord lips turned into something resembling a grin. "So suspicious, Hadrian. Of course, I expected nothing less. Surprisingly, there is no catch. Obviously, I will expect you to follow rules and behave decently once you are released. Otherwise, we return to square one."

"And if I choose not to attend?"

"Then, the moment you are returned to full strength, you will be returned to my study, and we will continue where we left off before your farce of a duel with your brother."

Hadrian considered. He wasn't sure he trusted his father with this sudden, mysterious 'offer,' but even if he wasn't released, he would be no worse off than he was currently.

"Fine. We have a deal."

His father grinned. "Excellent. I trust you are able to stand, now?"

Hadrian scowled, not wishing to be reminded of his current weakness. He tossed back the sheets that covered him and swung himself out of bed in one swift movement. The sudden change of position brought on a slight dizziness that made him stumble.

"Steady," his father's voice said, and Hadrian felt a hand on his shoulder, supporting him. He tried to shrug it off, but it refused to move.

"I'm fine," Hadrian insisted hotly, even as he stumbled again. "I don't need your help."

That infuriating, mocking grin had returned to the Dark Lord's face. "Certainly not. I'll return for you at eight o' clock. Until then, you are not to leave your rooms." Without waiting for a word of confirmation, the Dark Lord swept out of the room.

Hadrian pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply. It was only a few more hours, he assured himself. A few more hours, and then he'd be able to turn his attention to more important things...like getting out of the manor.

Satisfied, Hadrian started for the bathroom, intending to take a long, hot shower.

True to his word, the Dark Lord appeared in Hadrian's room at exactly eight o' clock. Hadrian, not wanting to push his luck, had resentfully obeyed his father and remained in his room, reading another book about magical tracking and concealment.

"It is nearly time," the Dark Lord announced, and Hadrian nodded, setting his book down on a table.

"Before we leave, I would like to remind you of the rules of behavior at this engagement. You are to keep whatever interactions you have with others tonight civil, at the least, particularly those involving your aunts or uncles. Yes, that does include Bellatrix. And, should you need to speak to me, you will address me by my title or as 'Father', and not in that typical, disdainful tone you use when doing so."

Hadrian had a sudden urge to back out on the whole thing. He normally didn't like to speak to his father at all, if he could help it, but to have to choose between calling him 'my Lord' or 'Father' with any sort of sincerity or politeness was an incredibly offensive idea.

"Do you understand?"

Perhaps he could simply avoid speaking to his father? Hadrian looked at the expectant Dark Lord and reminded himself why he was doing this in the first place. Finally, he nodded his acquiescence.

"Good." Almost before he could react, Hadrian was tugged into his father's side and apparated away.

They appeared in an antechamber to what Hadrian knew was the central gathering room of Obscurus.

"You do know that I am capable of apparating on my own?" Hadrian asked calmly.

The Dark Lord smirked. "I like to ensure that you appear at the correct destination," he replied. Hadrian nearly snorted.

"Come, we are late already." And again, Hadrian resisted the urge to snort derisively. Everyone knew that whatever time the Dark Lord arrived was 'on time.'

The Dark Lord stepped through the door into the room, Hadrian following close behind. The low chatter which had risen up in the Dark Lord's absence died immediately at the sight of him. Around the room, Death Eaters sank to their knees before their master.

Hadrian, observing all of this from slightly behind his father, was hit with a moment of pleasant disorientation. Of course, he was no stranger to his father's ability to quiet a rabble, but he was normally on the other end of the spectrum, hidden amongst the subservient mob with one of his tutors or a trusted uncle. Standing so close to his father, he could almost imagine that the crowd was bowing to _him_.

"Rise, my faithful," the Dark Lord, and the mass obeyed.

As his father continued to speak, Hadrian's eyes roamed about the room, observing the faces that were turned towards his father with rapt attention, some even with reverent awe. For a few of the more avid followers, it was as though a god had taken form on earth and condescended to speak to them. Of course to some of these, Hadrian realized, his father was something of a deity. Patron of the Dark Arts, supporter of pure-blood supremacy, descendent of the great Salazar Slytherin...he was the embodiment of everything they valued and worshipped.

His roaming gaze stopped as he recognized a face in the crowd. There, standing between Draco Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange, was a scowling Domitian. His eyes, unlike those of everyone else in the gathering hall, were locked on Hadrian, standing behind their father. Hadrian had a sudden, childish urge to wave, or stick out his tongue. He controlled it, however, and settled for a very slight smirk and a raised eyebrow instead. At this, Domitian's scowl became even more pronounced. Hadrian knew, perhaps better than anyone, how much Domitian would have given to be standing where he was now, close behind their father as the Dark Lord addressed his faithful followers. Hadrian knew because, once upon a time, he had wished for such a thing as well. He hadn't thought of it for quite a while, however.

Suddenly there was movement again, and Hadrian realized that his father must have finished speaking. He turned and started for the wall, but his father's hand around his arm stopped him.

"Stay close, Hadrian," he whispered, and Hadrian knew he had no choice but to comply.

Every eye in the room seemed to follow him. At first he though it more likely that they were following his father, but the curious whispers and pointing fingers seemed to indicate otherwise. All of the lower Death Eaters gazed at him with wonder, as thought they'd never seen him before. Whispers seemed to fly around the room. Even the eyes of the inner circle followed him with interest, although he'd thought it was common knowledge now, at least among them, that he was being monitored. Unless they were looking at him because of the duel? Wouldn't it be amusing if word of _that_ incident had gotten out, and his father chose to punish someone for the slip? But it wouldn't matter, because they would all know already how weak Domitian had been in comparison to him.

It seemed that, at some point during his musing, Hadrian's father had finally released the vice-like grip on his arm and walked on, unintentionally leaving Hadrian behind. As tempted as Hadrian was to simply wander off, he knew that he had better find his father again before–

"Where do you think you're going?"

Hadrian turned to find Domitian behind him.

"I fail to see how that should matter to you at all," Hadrian shot back. "In fact, I'm surprised that they even managed to scrape you off of the floor and get you here standing after our duel."

Domitian scowled. "Right, like you were much better off. Casting a dark curse on Father? How much stupider can you get?"

"Oh, I don't know. I think I could manage something a bit more incredible, since he didn't let me die this time."

"He should have," Domitian muttered. "You're bloody worthless, after all."

"_He_ doesn't seem to think so," Hadrian returned.

If it was possible, Domitian's glare deepened. "Why couldn't you just stay in the bloody shadows where you belong?" he hissed.

It both puzzled and pleased Hadrian that his brother was so worked up over their father's new awareness of him. "I never asked for attention, Domitian, but I'll accept it if he chooses to bestow it. It's not my fault you never learned to share the spotlight."

"Ha! He _chooses_? You're tricking him, we both know it! He's never cared a speck about you until a few weeks ago, and now he won't bloody stop! You must've done something to him."

Hadrian smiled. If Domitian was this upset, he must really be feeling neglected. Obviously, their father normally devoted much more attention to Domitian than he had since Hadrian's punishment. "Let me get this straight. You're suggesting that the Dark Lord who had inspired fear in all of Europe, has been _hoodwinked_? And by _me, _nonetheless?"

Domitian seemed desperate now, knowing he was grasping at straws. "It has to be! It's not bloody fair!"

"You want to talk about _fairness_?" Hadrian hissed. "How was it fair, Domitian, when I outscored you in every one of our tests, and Father only ever praised you? How was it fair that I have always worked twice as hard as you, and everyone only ever sees 'Domitian, the _True Chosen Heir_'? How is it fair that I do all the work, and you get all the credit? You want fair? You had better hope I don't decide to make things _fair_ before our next birthday, Domitian, because I'm the one who deserves everything you're going to get."

The bulkier twin went his customary shade of white at the threat. "You wouldn't! Father wouldn't let us kill each other, you know it!"

"Are you sure about that, Domitian?" Hadrian asked quietly, raising an eyebrow.

He turned and slipped away through the crowd before Domitian could find any words to reply.


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm sure you're all wondering where the hell I've been. ****I could give you a hundred excuses, not the least of which being that I had a lot of work to do in real life, but I'm not sure my excuses are enough. Thus, I shall refrain. Thanks especially to those reviewers who periodically reminded me not to give up on this (because I really have promised myself not to abandon it). Your concern is gratifying.  
><strong>

**I'm also sorry that you waited so long for such a short chapter. Rest assured, most of the others will be longer. There was a reason I stopped this chapter here. Sorry for the wait, and enjoy.**

Chapter 11

For a moment, Hadrian considered going to find Severus or, better yet, going off on his own in a corner to feign invisibility. He quickly decided against both options, knowing that his father expected him to remain close and that, should Domitian decide to seek retribution for losing their battle of exchanged insults, he would be easily deterred by their father's presence. After all, Hadrian didn't want his chances of getting off punishment being ruined by his spoiled twin.

It was not difficult for Hadrian to locate his father; the Dark Lord had a rather commanding presence, after all. Contrary to all of Hadrian's expectations, his father was off to the side of the room, conversing with a small group of his associates.

He would have continued toward the group had he not heard his name.

"I fear I've let Hadrian roam free for too long, Lucius. He has done nothing but misbehave in the last year, and when I attempt to tighten the leash, he only chafes more against the restrictions."

Hadrian changed direction ever so slightly, making it appear that he was leaning nonchalantly against one of the pillars that ringed the room, placing him conveniently opposite his father's group.

"My Lord," a rich baritone that Hadrian easily recognized said. _Severus. _"With all due respect, the boy isn't accustomed to being monitored so closely. Given more time, I believe–"

"I have given him plenty of time, Severus, but he refuses to bend. Your loyalty to the boy is commendable, but do remember that it is your loyalty to _your Lord_ which matters most."

There was a pause, in which Hadrian could imagine Severus screwing his trademark impassive expression onto his face. "Naturally, my Lord."

"Of course, he is expendable in the long run; it would not do to give his attitudes much consideration."

Hadrian felt the world freeze around him. Had his father just said...

"Forgive my presumption, my Lord, but it seemed to some of us that you were using a double deception, of sorts." Severus again, apparently sticking up for him.

He had to lean further around the pillar and strain to catch the next words, for they were spoken so very quietly, like a secret.

"And why not a triple deception, Severus? Keep the enemy guessing and second guessing, while I hide my intentions in plain sight, train my heir and wait to dispose of the other."

_Wait to dispose of the other..._

Hadrian could no longer feel the ache in his clenched teeth, or the sting of his nails biting into his palms. He could not feel the tickle of warm liquid gathering behind his eyelids. What he could feel, what he had left to feel, was rage. And it _burned_.

He moved out of the hall, nearly knocking over a short, rat-like man and actually shoving into a rather burly, solid brunette in his angry distraction. Back to the little antechamber where they had entered, back through the not-quite-space tube of apparition, back to his room in the manor, where he automatically began to throw things into a black trunk which he had rarely ever used. The words kept replaying in his head. '_He is expendable...wait to dispose of the other...he is expendable...wait to dispose of the other...'_

How had he been so stupid? It had always been a game he played with Domitian, seeing who could one-up the other by earning their father's respect. More often than not, Domitian had won. Even more often, Hadrian had held out hope that it was a ploy, because how could their father possibly be so blind and dull and dense? How could he possibly want Domitian's meager talent instead of his own prodigious work? Why couldn't he see what a mistake he was making?

And just when he had him believing, just when he had unsettled Domitian with the thought that maybe he wasn't the heir and everything was upside-down and backwards, the bomb was dropped. Everything hurt and stung because of it, but the ironic part was that nothing mattered now. His father had always intended to slaughter him and let Domitian have everything he himself had ever dreamed of having, everything _he_ deserved. The hints, the ploys, the stray bits of praise sometimes thrown his way, were all part of some elaborate, sadistic ruse to keep him hoping that, just maybe, he was worth something.

It was as if his entire life had just been one big, sick joke that he was only now being let in on. Well, he wasn't going to laugh. He was tired of being dangled on a string. It was over.

Hadrian picked up the book he had set down on his table earlier, another of the books he'd been hoping would give him an answer to his problem, a plan to keep his father from finding him. He had spent so long and done so much work, reading and cross-referencing and constructing all kinds of scenarios in his head for how it would work, and how he could keep the man from finding him.

Fuck planning. His father didn't want him, anyway. Just like everything else, planning didn't matter now.

He slammed the book with excessive force into the trunk, locked it, and shrunk it to slip into his pocket. He removed his robes as violently as he could and exchanged them for a set of black muggle clothes.

A slight tap of his wand shrunk the trunk to a manageable size. He looked around the room once more and was about to leave when a familiar hand roughly took hold of his arm, preventing him from turning.

"And where, pray tell, do you think you're going?"

"Someplace far away from here," Hadrian spat. The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed.

"Oh? Is that so?"

The calm in his father's voice only buried Hadrian deeper in his rage. "Unless you'd like to dispose of me now and have done with it, _Father_."

"You are not finished here yet, Hadrian."

"You're right, I've decided to leave rather than give you the chance to finish me." He tried to yank his arm from his father's grasp, but his father only held on tighter.

"Listen to me, you stubborn boy!"

"You want me to listen? _Now_, you want me to listen, when I've finally realized what you're doing, and how stupid I was to think that maybe things would turn out differently, now I'm supposed to listen?"

"Hadrian–"

"Well, you know what? Fuck you. I'm tired of your sick little games. Find another mind to play with, I'm through letting you use mine. _Remitto!_"

The spell hit the Dark Lord's hand, loosening his grip. Hadrian yanked his arm away, and then he turned on the spot and was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Yeah, I'm still alive. I have lots of excuses that you don't want to hear, but I have a chapter for you here, and another one on the way, hopefully for sometime in the next 24 hours. I've decided I'm going to wrap this up before I start school, dammit, or I'll never get it done, and I owe you guys at least this much for putting up with my mysterious disappearances. Thanks for all the reviews and PMs wondering whether I'm continuing; you guys kept this story afloat when I was ready to drown it. Cheers.**

Chapter 12

Seven days.

Seven. Fucking. Days.

The creak of the floorboards as he shifted in his chair seemed to fill the near-empty room, practically deafening him, but the noise could not drown out his thoughts.

It had been exactly one week since he had left with all of his most precious belongings, all of his not-inconsiderable rage, and nothing resembling a plan.

Seven days, and not even a shadow at the window of the little forest lodge where he was hiding.

It should have been a good thing. He should have been relieved. No one had come after him yet, no one had found him to bring him back for punishment or to be eliminated. Every one of those seven days was another day he'd still been able to freely breath air.

It was not a good thing. Hadrian felt nothing but anxiety.

He had apparated three times successively to throw any pursuers off of his scent before ending up here. Within the space of ten minutes, he was ready to beat his head against a wall for not remembering why he hadn't run yet. He wasn't prepared; too much could go wrong.

Not that Hadrian wasn't a more-than-capable young wizard, because he was certainly that. If he were not at least more capable than the average wizard, Hadrian would have been disposed of long ago. In fact, if it were not the Dark Lord's brightest and best that Hadrian was attempting to hide from, he would have been more than prepared to make this escape years ago. However, it was the Dark Lord's very best men, perhaps even the Dark Lord himself, who were seeking Hadrian, and as such the protections he placed over wherever he hid had to be some of the very best.

Hadrian had almost panicked when he realized how woefully stupid he had been to run off without so much as a hint of a plan. When that happened, he had forced himself to calm down, reminded himself that, with all the years he'd considered running, he did have some semblance of a plan, and set to work warding this run-down little property the best he could.

He'd found the place by accident one day, playing in the woods where his mother had taken them for an outing one day. He wasn't exactly sure of the geographical location, but he had remembered the sleepy little town nearby in such vivid detail that such coordinates had not been necessary for apparition. The small hunting lodge was in even more disrepair than he had remembered, but it was near a source of fresh water and supplies when they were needed, and with a few magical touch-ups, the place would serve its purpose nicely.

Hadrian had used a relatively simple but incredibly strong ward to hide the place. Known by most textbooks as a case ward, the defensive magic literally encased a selected area to keep any magic done there from being detected.

Of course, this sort of simple warding also had a huge flaw: it made the flat appear as an unnatural dead-spot under a certain charm designed to reveal ambient magic, a charm that the Death Eaters that were likely searching for Hadrian at that very moment were almost certain to know.

He'd lived for a week with the knowledge that any day, any hour now they would find the place where he was hidden, take him by surprise and cart him off to face his bleak fate once again, and he was no longer able to deny that he was slowly but surely going mad.

Perhaps he had over-estimated the more qualified Death Eaters...but no. The Dark Lord knew what Hadrian was capable of, certainly even more so after observing him so closely for the last few weeks and monitoring his progress in his studies all his life. His father would know that, to find his wayward son, he'd have to send out his best men.

Which, of course, meant that they would be on the doorstep any minute, blasting the door off its hinges and coming to take him back.

Hadrian rubbed his tired eyes where bruised circles were beginning to form, wishing he could catch a moment of proper sleep. Every time he'd fallen asleep in the last week he'd woken with a start at some small noise. He needed to be alert in the event that the Dark Lord's men found him, but the anxiety of being found was keeping him tense and restless.

He wished he could be at the manor, reading something out of the extensive Slytherin library, designing spells, arguing with Bellatrix. Due to his dramatic exit, Hadrian had only had time enough to pack his most precious and useful belongings, as well as a few basic necessities. It was an excellent strategy for being on the run, but he missed home.

"Not home," he reminded himself quietly. "Home is not a place where your own family wants you dead." Where was home, then? He couldn't think of anywhere else he'd particularly want to be. With his mother, maybe, but that wasn't possible. Hadrian knew that even magic has its limits. Did that mean he was homeless, then?

That was when Hadrian heard the creak of the front step outside.

Hadrian shot out of his chair in the corner, wand at the ready, eyes focusing alternately on all possible entrance points to the cabin.

With a loud shout from outside the door of the cabin was reduced to dust, and five men in the bone-white masks of the Dark Lord's army rushed through the door, wands aimed.

"Took you longer than I expected to get here, boys," Hadrian began.

"We have orders from the Dark Lord: surrender now and come with us, or we will use any means necessary to force you to comply."

Strange. The voice didn't seem to belong to any of the elite that Hadrian knew.

"Of course you will. However, it's a bit past time for me to be leaving. You understand, I'm sure."

"Lay down your wand or we will have to take action."

Hadrian grinned. "Ah, so it's to be that way, then? Excellent. I was getting a bit bored, you know. _Confringo!_" The leader jumped aside just in time to avoid being blasted to pieces, and the game was on.

Adrenaline rushed through Hadrian's veins as he tossed curses at his attackers. It wasn't a difficult fight, and they were all incapacitated, some after a lucky dodge or two, in under a minute. As he stood in the corner, surveying the results of his work, he smiled. He could feel his heart pumping for the first time in what felt like years from true exertion rather than from pure anxiety, and it felt heavenly.

Anything was better than that intolerable, anxious waiting.

Noticing one of the men beginning to stir from unconsciousness, Hadrian re-shrunk and pocketed his things before transfiguring a bit of rubble from the wall into parchment, quill and ink. He scribbled two words, muttered '_Portus_' at the note, and waited for the blue glow to fade completely before dropping it on the man's forehead and spinning on the spot. They disappeared at the same time.

_"Try harder." _He couldn't wait to see what the Dark Lord would do with that.


	13. Chapter 13

**I told you I'd have it out soon, didn't I? First of all, I was absolutely tickled to find out shortly after posting chapter 12 that True Chosen was, at some point during one of my long absences, added to the 'GASP! It's Harry and Voldemort together!' community, which I am rather fond of myself. Good stuff there along this ilk, so check it out if you're looking for more stories like this. Also, I need to thank everyone for their reviews and support for the last chapter. It's heartwarming to know how much you guys are enjoying the story, and I hope I continue to meet expectations.**

**Speaking of expectations, I get the feeling that some of you will be angry about this chapter. Be patient: things are not always what they seem.**

**On with the chapter, in which Hadrian has a few visitors...**

**Chapter 13**

It took several more days of hiding after relocating to London before Hadrian heard from any of the Dark Lord's associates again. When someone finally did arrive at his newest hideout, Hadrian was rather shocked to hear said someone rapping on the door, giving the impression of politeness. Of course, that impression was rather destroyed when the locked door flew open of its own accord.

Hadrian had already flown from his seat ready to attack when he realized who had entered.

"No respect for privacy, as usual," Hadrian greeted.

"If you really wished to use that particular locking spell to keep _me_ out, you should not have shown it to me when you first developed it." Severus looked about the dingy muggle hotel room as though surveying it.

"Not up to my usual standards, I know, but being on the run puts interior decorating preferences rather low on the list."

"Not to mention basic standards of cleanliness," Severus returned, wrinkling his nose at the admittedly rather sharp odor that filled the room which probably could have been corrected with a simple freshening charm, had Hadrian not feared giving himself away.

"What do you want, Severus?"

"Why, you, of course. Ever since that little note, or should I say 'command', that you so generously sent back, your father has been swooping about Obscurus like Hades in a temper, demanding that we find you as soon as possible. It seems I've won the competition."

"And how did you know where to look?"

"I know you, and you're your mother's child as well. Don't you think the rooms on the same street as her favorite London bookstore are a bit too obvious to make a successful hiding place?"

"Not to anyone but you, but I didn't think you'd go along with this manhunt. From what I heard, you weren't too keen on _his_ plan in the first place. And you know I won't go without a fight."

"Relax, Hadrian. I am not here to return you. Why don't we sit and have a bit of a chat?"

"I'm not really in a chatty sort of mood, right this instant."

"Also," Severus continued as if he hadn't heard, "as we are both very aware of what you truly look like, would you mind removing those lenses? The color is somewhat...unsettling."

Hadrian rolled his eyes but did as he was asked, popping the electric-blue lenses out of his eyes before turning back to Severus.

"Much better. Out of curiosity, why were you wearing them?"

"Helpful when I go out. Mum's eyes were a rather recognizable shade, you know, and magic won't detect physical disguises."

"Indeed. Now, sit."

Hadrian knew when he was beaten. He sunk onto the bed, allowing Severus to take the room's only chair.

Severus began. "Your father–"

"He is _not _my father. Fathers don't dangle their sons along on strings before accidentally letting it slip that they mean to 'dispose of' them."

"_Good_ fathers do not do such things, and let me remind you that there are plenty of bad fathers. None of this changes the hard facts of your paternity."

"Fine, if you insist. Go on."

"Your father asks only that you make contact with him, for now."

Hadrian raised an eyebrow, a move he vehemently insisted that he had learned from Severus and _not_ his father.

"Oh, really? Why does he need to talk to me?"

"What makes you think that I can tell you why the Dark Lord does what he does?"

It was a fair point, Hadrian realized. His father's mind was probably a topic of study best left undisturbed.

"Let's say that I don't want to speak to him. What then?"

"I'm not asking you if you want to do so, I'm asking if you are _willing_ to do so."

"And if not?"

"Then I will return to your father and relay your decision, at which point he will likely have a brilliant tantrum to rival the likes of your own before punishing me and insisting that I return and convince you to agree to his terms."

Well, Hadrian could have predicted that outcome.

Uncertain, he stood and began to inspect the old dirtied mirror on the wall. It was only now that he'd finally made his decision to get out that his father wanted to communicate. He shouldn't have expected anything less in the pattern of growing confusions that his life had recently become. Furthermore, there was no reason for it; as though his father had just suddenly changed his mind, and the unlikelihood of the entire situation was making Hadrian's head spin.

He cursed under his breath. If he'd thought that nothing made sense before, he'd been wrong. Things had only gotten worse, and he was just too bloody tired to think straight.

"He doesn't need to talk to me." Hadrian concluded. "If he wants me dead, he can come and do the deed himself, but he need not have any sort of chat before doing it."

Severus gave a nearly imperceptible sigh. "I see."

"You can go now," Hadrian said, turning away.

He heard the clink of glass on wood. Something on the nightstand, then.

"Dreamless sleep," Severus explained, "in case you have need of it. Judging by the state of your eyes, it will do you some good."

Hadrian laughed humorlessly. "Any other good advice?"

"Things aren't always what they seem. Remember that."

Hadrian gritted his teeth and shut his eyes as he heard the crack of Severus disapparating.

Damn his father.

* * *

><p>The last thing Hadrian was expecting that evening was a knock at his door. By the time the sound had been repeated three times, his curiosity had overpowered his paranoia. He got up and answered the knock.<p>

The man wore a scruffy muggle coat and old trousers, and his face appeared pale and haggard.

"Can I help you with something?"

"I just need a few moments of your time, _Mr. Sable._"

Hadrian was instantly on the alert. "You must have the wrong room, sir. My name is Clark."

"No, I'm quite sure I'm correct, Hadrian. Now, if you don't mind–"

"Who are you. What do you want?"

"I don't mean you any harm. My name is Remus Lupin, and I have a proposition for you."

His eyes narrowed at the unexpected visitor, taking in his whole appearance once again. "Hand over any weapons you possess and I'll let you in."

The man pulled a wand from his coat pocket and handed it over. "I don't have anything else."

Hadrian nodded his assent and moved aside, allowing the man to come into the room but keeping his back from exposure. "Take a seat," he said, shutting the door while the strange man made himself comfortable on the dingy bed.

"Now, what is it you want?"

The man, Lupin, cleared his throat. "I'm here on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix."

Hadrian's brow wrinkled. He'd heard that name many times before, whispered in the halls of the manor or openly cursed in Obscurus whenever some aspect of the war his father was orchestrating didn't go to plan. "Dumbledore's militia? The old man sent you?"

Lupin seemed to take offense at the insinuation. "The Order sent me. We do not work _for_ Dumbledore, although it was he who assembled us."

"Excellent. Now even more people are looking for me," Hadrian spat.

"We're wondering if, given the recent, ah...falling out that took place between you and your father, we might come to some sort of...mutually beneficial arrangement."

"How do you know about that? For that matter, how do you know my name? I'm given to understand that my existence is a rather closely guarded secret within my father's ranks."

The man shrugged. "Your father has his spies, we have ours. Intelligence is key to any war, and we have to get it somehow."

"I see. Well, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you."

Lupin seemed shocked. "You won't even consider it? I haven't even laid out any terms."

"I don't need to hear your terms. Nothing you can offer me is worth enlarging the target that's already on my head. Besides, I don't think you'd want me on your team, Lupin. I'm not exactly the epitome of light and goodness after growing up with the Dark Lord. Or has Dumbledore lowered his standards in the face of certain destruction?"

"I think 'certain' is a bit harsh."

"Oh, please." Hadrian couldn't stop the roll of his eyes. "With or without me, I have no ridiculous delusions that my father isn't going to win this war. He's the consummate Slytherin: too bloody ambitious _not_ to win."

Lupin nodded and stood. "I'll be back. Perhaps you'll change your mind and listen to our offer."

"Not likely, but thanks for the consideration, I guess."

"It's more than consideration. We..._I_ wouldn't want your mother's sacrifice to be for nothing."

Hadrian frowned. "My mother? What would _you_ know about my mother?"

"You mean...you don't know?"

"_What_ don't I know?" Hadrian snarled. "Tell me!"

Lupin met Hadrian's eyes. "Your mother was killed because she was discovered. She was a spy...for the Order."


	14. Chapter 14

**Where the hell have I been this time, you ask? College. I've been at college, writing papers. Sorry, guys. All of you who have still been reviewing in my stupidly long absence deserve better. I was supposed to have something out over winter break, and it didn't happen.**

**The next few chapters are going to be a bit of a "blast from the past" in that they focus a lot on the events surrounding Hadrian's birth and his mother's death. Not only are they integral to the plot, but they're proving difficult to work out. Seriously, do you have any idea how hard it is to reconstruct the feelings and motives of a dead woman? It's hard. But I'm working on it.**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter. Review or PM with comments and questions, please.**

**Chapter 14**

Hadrian couldn't process all of the thoughts spinning around in his head. The man was lying, he had to be. It didn't make sense. If his mother had been a spy, a traitor...but no. No. It just didn't fit. The man was a liar, and Hadrian couldn't trust him. He knew better now than to trust anyone but himself.

"I don't believe you," he told the man.

"Just listen to me, Hadrian," Lupin said. "Let me tell you my side of the story. Our side."

"Why? So you can convert me to your precious 'light' side?"

Lupin's eyes met his, pleading and sincere. "What if I'm right? Haven't you ever wondered why your mother was killed, whether there was more to the story than what you know? Don't you want to know the truth?"

The truth. Hadrian almost laughed out loud. What was the truth, anymore? Aside from the fact that his father hated him, that is. Was there nothing in his life he could be confident about?

"How can I trust you're telling me the truth? You could very well be lying to gain my support, and I wouldn't know the difference."

"Let me explain, and if you need more proof I will see what I can do. I won't lie to you, Hadrian. I swear."

Hadrian held back a snort. "You swear. Right." If it would cause the man to leave him alone, however...

"Fine. Explain. Tell me why my mother died."

The man sighed with relief. "Thank you, Hadrian."

Hadrian glared. "I'm waiting.

"Yes, well." Lupin cleared his throat. "I knew your mother in school. I suppose there were hardly any who weren't familiar with her back then. The story of Scarlet Sable was big talk amongst the pureblood crowd of our day. Even without that notoriety, she would have been well known simply for her intelligence and her charm. She got on well with just about everyone. Always had fire in her eyes, always eager to solve the next problem or help the next person."

That certainly sounded like Hadrian's mother. Hadrian remembered quite vividly the year that his mother had ordered the house elves to box up the remains of the manor's Autumnal Equinox feast and taken them to a muggle homeless shelter in London. He remembered Bellatrix screaming to the high heavens that she was "tainting the Noble House of Black by giving of our own to filthy muggles," and he remembered his mother's fiery eyes and set jaw as she did it anyway.

Lupin continued. "Your mother walked a fine line socially in her school days. When I say she got on well with just about everyone, I mean it. Even while Cygnus Black was introducing his youngest daughter to pureblood society, Scarlet was making friends with students in all of the houses, purebloods and muggle-borns alike. She was best friends with a half-blood boy who had grown up in her muggle neighborhood. Despite her name change as a teenager, quite a few people from the other side of the blood fence continued to call her by her old name, Lily.

"She sometimes felt trapped and helpless, awash in all of the social expectations, I think. When she finally decided to change her name, her father had told her that he would not continue to fund her education if she chose to remain a part of the muggle world, where her adoptive sister had not been overly kind, and cruel schoolchildren had mocked her for her love of books and her curious friend, the boy from Spinner's End with whom she eventually fell in love."

"In love?" Hadrian's eyes narrowed. "Who could she-?" And then it hit him.

Spinner's End. A boy from her muggle neighborhood.

"Severus," he breathed.

"Yes, Severus." Lupin cleared his throat. "He'd been pining after her since he met her, I believe. I presume you know him?"

Hadrian glared, and Lupin wisely continued his tale.

"Unfortunately for Cygnus, a disgraced half-blood of the Prince line was best leverage he had over his beautiful daughter, who some believed could have been mothered by a pure-blooded Prewett girl. Many believe he'd been hoping to make a more advantageous match for her. The Dark Lord, at that time, was building up his army from the ranks of his chief followers and their children. He saw a young, whip-smart Ravenclaw girl with at least half of a good family, a talent for magic of all sorts, and a thick coating of determination, and he wanted her. Lily- Scarlet -was always skeptical about joining the Dark Lord, disapproving of many of his darker and more harmful methods of waging war. Black obviously couldn't have the daughter he'd worked so hard to make useful going against his will in this, so he gave her an ultimatum: join the Dark Lord, and he would not arrange her marriage to anyone. Otherwise, Cygnus would choose her husband and she would lose her chance to be with Severus. Of course, we know how that worked out for her."

Hadrian clenched his fists, trying to ignore the rather pointed remark about his parents' relationship. "Is this going somewhere?"

"Just background information. I'll get to what you want explained in a moment. Lily, less than a year after her graduation, showed up out of the blue at Sirius Black's doorstep saying that she needed help."

Sirius Black. The black sheep - or white sheep, as it were - of his mother's family. Technically a cousin of his as well, although even he would not acknowledge his relationship to the uncouth young man who had cut all of his family ties in an unforgivable breech of pureblood duty and subsequently thrown his lot in with Dumbledore.

"Sirius had always liked Lily more than the rest of his family, felt like she had more of a head on her shoulders. He arranged a meeting with Dumbledore, and she told him everything, including the fact that the Dark Lord intended to make her bear his heir even though her heart belonged to someone else. He took pity on her, of course, and when he promised to find her a way out, she agreed to spy on the Dark Lord for him."

Hadrian frowned. "Just like that?"

"Unless there's more to the story than I know," Lupin answered, nodding.

"But it can't be right," Hadrian insisted.

"I assure you, it is."

Hadrian wasn't assured. "Whatever else I've forgotten of my mother, I remember that she was committed. Even if she disagreed, even if she hated something, she squared her shoulders and did what was asked of her because it was her duty."

Lupin sighed. "Hadrian...it is natural for you to think the way you do about you parents. You want to imagine that they were content, that they agreed with one another, but that wasn't the way of things."

"I think you're lying."

Lupin's eyes widened. "Hadrian, please. I'm only telling you-"

"Lies. They're all lies. I knew my mother, don't you dare tell me I didn't. But I don't know you, and I don't trust you. Now get out."

"Hadrian–"

"LEAVE!"

"I can bring you proof!"

Hadrian paused skeptically, arms crossed.

"What sort of proof?"

"Memories. I assume you are familiar with Pensieves?"

Hadrian nodded. Of course he was familiar with Pensieves. He was descended from a Founder's family which hoarded a great number of magical artifacts. "Go on."

"I'll bring you a Pensieve, along with the memories of your mother in our meetings. You'll be able to tell if the memories are fabricated because they appear misty."

"And even if I believe the memories, what then?"

"I don't expect anything from you, Hadrian. I just want you to believe the truth. You deserve to know."

Hadrian was hard pressed not to snort. Dumbledore's pet messenger didn't expect anything. Right. Everyone always expected something of him, whether it was to get his homework done or to use dark curses or to bloody curl up and die when he was told to. And he 'deserved' to know the truth now? Now that it would give someone a leg up in this bloody war, he supposed.

Nonetheless, if the man truly thought he could bring proof...

"Come back tomorrow, same time, with the memories. Then we'll see if I'm satisfied."

Lupin nodded and made a quick exit. Once Hadrian had taken care of the deadbolt, he flopped down on the bed in his jeans. He waited for his thoughts to stop spinning.

They didn't.

Finally, he rolled over and downed the little bottle of blue liquid Severus had left him, falling into merciful, solitary darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

**After yet another extended absence, behold! Chapter 15!  
><strong>**I'm deeply sorry to leave you here for the time being, but I'm hoping to work on finishing this up in bursts, so that I can post multiple chapters in the future. Of what remains of this story, about one-third, mostly the ending, is already written. Another half is already completely planned, but not expressed in prose. The remaining sixth has a bit of wiggle room, which is what I'm trying to work out, and what is keeping the next chapter from being published. When I get the chance to work, maybe over Spring Break in March, you might get more.**

**In the mean time, gratuitous thanks to all who continue to review, lurk, and occasionally poke me into posting by sending me encouraging/pleading/threatening PMs. Y'all make my days brighter.**

Chapter 15

Somehow, Hadrian wasn't terribly surprised to wake up to Severus standing over him. Perhaps it had something to do with his obvious grogginess and the heavy-headed feeling that always seemed to result from the use of Dreamless Sleep. He_ was_ mildly surprised to find that Severus had brought with him a platter of breakfast assembled by the Manor's house-elves.

"Your aunt insisted," Severus explained before Hadrian had even the chance to raise an eyebrow. His aunt? Definitely Narcissa, then. After all, Bellatrix was probably hoping he starved to death, if Death Eaters didn't bring him back to be slaughtered first. But, if Narcissa insisted on sending him breakfast, then...

"He knows. Everyone knows."

Severus remained stoic. "You of all people know that it is nigh impossible to hide anything from your father. That, combined with the fact that he sent me explicitly to locate you, makes it seem rather ridiculous of you to expect anything less."

Hadrian was not amused. "At least tell me if he knows where I am."

"He sent this." Severus passed Hadrian a small roll of heavy parchment, held closed with a dark green wax seal in the shape of the Slytherin Crest. Hadrian opened it and read.

_Hadrian,_

_ If you are reading this, you know that Severus has apprised me of your location. I am quite capable of bringing you home at any time. I believe, after the events of last week, that it is time for a certain discussion between us to be had. However, I will not attempt to speak to you while you behave like an uncivilized, tantrum-throwing child. When you are ready to discuss this incident properly, Severus will accompany you home._

_Your Father_

Hadrian glared at the message, and then at Severus. The man started before he could even ready a barbed remark to launch.

"Food first, objections later," Severus insisted, pointing him to the tantalizing, still-warm dish of ham, eggs, and muffins. Rolling his eyes, but also knowing that he would get further with Severus once he completed the task set before him, he dug into the food with vigor.

One breakfast plate later, hunger sated and brain considerably more awake, Hadrian returned to glaring at his mentor.

"He claims I'm being a child, and yet he refuses to talk to me until I come back, as though that's not at all childish."

"It seems reasonable to me. After all, there is not much discussion to be had with a screaming toddler."

Hadrian ignored the blatant jab, choosing instead to crumple the note in his fist. "As if we'll have a proper discussion if I return. We've never had a proper discussion in my life. All he does is make rules and scold and punish and curse and then make more rules. The day we have a discussion will be the day my father gives up and makes peace with Dumbledore."

"If I may make a suggestion," Severus inserted, "perhaps your father is attempting to see you in a new light? You have almost reached your majority, if you'll remember, and your father is long overdue on an attempt to treat either you or Domitian as grown heirs."

"And what good will it do him to treat me as an adult when he has me killed?" Mention of Domitian further soured Hadrian's mood.

"Could we perhaps have a discussion that is not centered on your belief that your father has no aim but to kill you?"

"It's a rather pressing issue, Severus! If you'll remember, it's actually the reason that I'm stuck up in this Merlin-forsaken hole-in-the-wall room with no food, barely any sleep, and virtually no magic!"

"I suppose reminding you that it was you who came here in the first place will not win me any points?"

"He said he was going to _kill_ me! You were there, Severus! How can you act like it's not a problem?" Hadrian was near bursting point, he felt.

Severus remained silent, adjusting his cloak, gathering himself.

Finally, "Do you intend to respond?"

Hadrian looked down again at the wad of fancy parchment in his hand, scrunched together in such a way that he could barely make out the word 'father' in the signature. An odd feeling seemed to wash over him and settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Have you got a quill and parchment?"

Severus handed over the requested items, and Hadrian prepared to scrawl out some sort of reply. He scanned the note again.

"Severus, what exactly does he mean by 'a certain discussion between us'?"

"I would be hard-pressed to say," the man replied.

Hadrian frowned at the parchment. How could he respond when he didn't know what his father wanted to talk about? What sort of conversation was there to be had, except perhaps a poor explanation as to why his father suggested that he was expendable? _That_ certainly wasn't a conversation Hadrian wanted to have. Nevertheless, he set quill to parchment.

Still reluctant to address the man as 'Father', he simply skipped the address and greeting and wrote out:

_I need more time. When I am ready to speak with you, I will contact Severus. Until I do, please leave me alone._

_ Hadrian_

He didn't have a seal of any kind, so he simply rolled it up and handed it back to Severus, who deposited the scroll in his pocket and proceeded to banish the dirty breakfast plate. Hadrian nearly reproached him, but realized that, with the Dark Lord already aware of his location, it didn't matter much.

"Have you got anything else to say, then?"

Severus reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a roll of Muggle bills. "Since it appears you have no interest in returning home currently, you may as well have something to buy food."

"Where did you get these?" Hadrian asked.

"Your room."

"But how did you-?"

"Perhaps the house-elves wouldn't know any better, but I seriously doubted that you kept a copy of _Unfogging the Future_ on your side table for bedtime reading. Next time, pick your hiding place more thoughtfully."

Hadrian sighed. "Guess I had that one coming."

"For Salazar's sake, take care of yourself, Hadrian. And perhaps freshen the place up a bit. It smells like a wet dog."

Hadrian blinked; he hadn't noticed the terrible odor when breakfast sat in front of his nose, but now it was all too obvious. "Right."

And with nothing more to add, Severus apparated away.


	16. Chapter 16

**So...  
><strong>**I know I had promised you all more by March. And look, I'm only off by about 2 months! This is turning into a bad habit, I know, but I realized that this chapter and the next need to be posted in quick succession. Plus, this Pensieve business is dang hard to write! Seriously, I had more trouble with this chapter than with any I've written so far. Remus, especially is difficult. So, enjoy this little "blast from the past" section, and next chapter, which I'll have up soon, we can get back to Hadrian.**

**And for those of you frustrated with this long digression into the story of Lily and the Order...well, let's just say that there is much you don't know, and that you ought to keep reading. *makes mysterious hand gestures and fades into mist***

**Once again, thanks for all of your follows, favorites, and reviews. You guys rock.**

Chapter 16

Hadrian nearly jumped when a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts for the second night, even though this time he had half-expected his guest. Not wanting to stand on ceremony, he unbolted the door and ushered the Order member into his poor excuse for a flat.

The man opened a large velvet bag and reached in, producing a large stone bowl and a few glass phials containing the silvery mist of memories.

Hadrian took a deep breath. He almost didn't want to believe it. A part of him had hoped that the man would not try to bring him any proof, that he could go back to peacefully recalling his mother as she wanted to be remembered, and not as these muggle-loving fools made her out to be.

"Before we begin," Lupin announced, "you should know that a few of the things said by some of our members are likely to offend you. Not all in our Order are as welcoming or as trusting as Dumbledore, and some people made comments, particularly on the night your mother announced her pregnancy to us, that...well, that do not show our organization in the best light."

"You're not making a very compelling case for yourself, Lupin."

He nodded. "I simply wanted you to be prepared. Surely there are Death Eaters serving your father of whom you are not particularly fond? No one is perfect, Hadrian no matter what side of this war they're on."

"Right. Can we get on with it?"

Lupin uncorked one of the phials and poured out its contents. When the silver mist had settled neatly, he gestured towards the Pensieve. "After you, Hadrian."

Hadrian stepped forward, looked down, and watched the world go white, and then fill up again with color.

He was in a small, plain room with black tile and white walls, in which the only notable feature was a roaring fireplace.

_Floo-room, _Hadrian concluded. Nearly all upper class wizarding residences had one.

His suspicion was confirmed when the fire flared up with a green glow and coughed out a young man of average height.

"Remus, it's you!"

"Yes, Sirius, of course it's me. I come here every Friday at this time," Lupin said, brushing soot from the sleeves of his jacket. The man certainly didn't look top-of-the-line, in an ill-fitting muggle jacket and worn trousers, but he seemed a bit healthier than the man Hadrian had met yesterday. He spoke in an impatient monotone which suggested that he went through this dialogue often. Looking up at his friend, he finally noticed the man's continued excitement and narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"

The other man—Sirius Black, if Remus's greeting and his familiar cheekbones and manic grin were anything to go by—only smiled wider. "You'll not believe who's sitting in my drawing room at this very moment!"

The young Lupin frowned. "Oh, won't I?"

Sirius shook his head in what seemed a combination of delight and disbelief. "I'd put at least galleon on it."

And then, from the next room, came a woman's voice.

"Sirius, I have to get back. Could you please–"

"_Mum_," Hadrian whispered.

And sure enough, a young woman came around the corner, her request freezing in her throat as she detected another person in the room.

Scarlett Sable was just as beautiful as Hadrian remembered her, if somewhat younger. Her hair, which had usually been pinned up, was falling out of its bun in loose waves around her face. Her face was pale, but her emerald green eyes, the same shade as Hadrian's, were glowing with emotion.

"Remus," she whispered.

"Lily?"

She swallowed, then nodded. "Sirius, you could have warned me. No one else was supposed to know that I was here."

Sirius put a consoling hand on Lily's shoulder. "Come on, Lils. It's just Remus. Who's he going to tell?"

"It's not that, Sirius! Don't you think–" She paused. "Of course you don't. I'm talking to Sirius Black, after all."

"Hey, now!" The young man spoke in the most dignified tone of offense he could muster, but it was clear his affront was pretended.

"This isn't a laughing matter, Sirius, please! I need to get back. People will be wondering where I've gone!"

"Alright, alright! Just trying to lighten the mood."

"And failing, as usual," she retorted. "Please, Siri. I'm not expect anything, but–"

Sirius pulled his estranged cousin into a warm embrace."Relax, Lils. You can relax, now, it's fine. Everything will be fine, I promise."

Scarlett—Lily—did not return the hug, but flashed him a weak, half-hearted smile. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

She turned out of Sirius's arms to Remus. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay. It's...good to see you, Remus. I hope you're doing well."

And, before he could say anything in reply, she apparated away with a loud 'CRACK'.

Everything faded for a moment into white mist. Hadrian was about to pull himself out of the memory and insist to Remus that this proved absolutely nothing, when the white swirled again into colors, forming an entirely different setting.

This room looked like some sort of conference room, with low, wood-paneled ceilings and a central oval table. The ornate style made the room look as though it belonged to a pureblood manor. In fact, if the walls had been painted green, Hadrian would have been tempted to say that it looked like his father's drawing room.

At the head of the table was a man whom Hadrian had never seen before in his life, yet had no trouble recognizing. How many times had he heard his father and his father's lackeys complain about this man? His calm demeanor, his crooked nose which poked into everyone's business, and his crystal blue eyes which seemed to miss no detail gave the man away entirely.

"Albus Dumbledore," Hadrian whispered.

"Naturally," said a voice behind him, and Hadrian nearly jumped, irrationally wondering if one of the figures in the memory had heard him speak before remembering that Lupin had, presumably, followed him into the Pensieve.

Around the table were seated about fifteen other men and women of varying ages. Hadrian had no idea who most of them were, but some of the facial features gave him a guess. A heart-shaped face and rounded eyes suggested an Abbott, or maybe a Macmillan. Ears as large as his eyes were small hinted that a man near the center of the table was a Longbottom. The fiery red hair in the far corner belonged, no doubt, to a Weasley or a Prewett. But there was one face he did not see.

"My mother's not here, Lupin."

"Wait a moment," Lupin insisted.

And then the door directly across from where Hadrian stood swung open.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm late! I was afraid you'd have finished by the time I got here."

The young woman who had just entered the room was, undoubtedly, the younger version of Hadrian's mother. This time, though, she seemed almost as lively as he remembered her. Bright coppery hair twisted up in a traditional pureblood fashion, wearing robes of a deep grey adorned with what were probably expensive pearls, she seemed a bit out of breath, but at the same time bursting with barely-contained energy.

"No need to apologize, Lily," one of the men at the table said.

"But there is! There's a reason I haven't been able to get out to meetings recently, and it's something you need to know."

Dumbledore frowned. "What is it, my dear?"

His mum—Lily, here—took a deep breath. "I saw a healer, about two months ago now. I'm pregnant. Twins."

Murmurs broke out around the room.

"So he finally did it," Hadrian heard a man in front of him whisper. Looking down at him, Hadrian immediately recognized the younger and slightly less worn-looking Lupin.

"Dumbledore, this must be what the prophecy spoke of!" a man at the end of the table spoke up.

Lily's brow furrowed in confusion. "Prophecy? What prophecy?"

Dumbledore sighed and, closing his eyes, began to intone:

_"The one with the power to match the Dark Lord approaches...born to one who has dared defy him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark this one as an heir—this one shall have power the other knows not...and the Chosen must side with sire or with others for those left without him will not survive...the one with the power to match the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

She shook her head. "The prophecy said the seventh month. I'm not due until early September, the healer said."

"And he or she surely also mentioned that twins are often born premature?" Dumbledore returned, seeming almost kindly.

"And if she's having twins, it explains the line we couldn't understand. 'One shall have power the other knows not.' The other must mean the other twin!"

A man in the corner snorted. "'The line we couldn't understand.' As though the rest of the bloody thing is crystal clear!"

"Friends, please," Dumbledore said, quieting the table. "Lily, the prophecy obviously refers to your child."

"Children," Lily insisted.

"How do you know it's twins already, dear?" a matronly looking woman interrupted. "You said you saw a healer two months ago? You don't look very far along, if you don't mind my saying so."

Lily flushed. "I'm not. Less than three months, actually. But the healer told me when she first saw me that they were twins. She could see their cores already."A small smile lit up her face for the first time since she had entered the room.

"Lily," Dumbledore tentatively began, "does the Dark Lord know?"

"Of course he knows. Why do you think I've missed so many meetings for the last two months? He'll barely let me leave the manor with an escort!"

"He knows that you're carrying twins?"

Lily nodded, her brow furrowing.

Dumbledore studied her for a moment before looking away. "Well, I suppose this news gives us all enough to think about for one night. If there is no other urgent business?"

The table remained quiet.

The old man nodded. "Then I bid you all a good night."

As the men and women seated around the table rose to depart, Dumbledore fixed Lily with a look. "If I could have a word with you, my dear?"

She followed Dumbledore through a door at the back of the room, the grey silk of her robes fluttering behind her...

...and the warm colors of the Order's meeting room blurred to white mist, and again to the stained browns of Hadrian's rented room.


End file.
